


With the Dust Beneath Our Feet

by RangeroftheSouth



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Angst, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 201,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26757541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RangeroftheSouth/pseuds/RangeroftheSouth
Summary: A stranger is found beneath the trees. Unconscious, with no memory and seemingly not from Arda. She dares to join the Company of Thorin Oakenshield to reclaim their homeland and find her own. Dodging death, war and ill tempered Dwarves ,with the stars above her head and the dust beneath her feet nothing can stop her from rediscovering her past and leaping towards her future.
Relationships: Elrohir/OC, Fíli/OC
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and the original story belong to J.R.R Tolkien and all bits of the movie belongs to the respective directors and producers.
> 
> The OC is mine and is not based of any other character, fictional, fanfictional or otherwise. Writing this because I love the books and movies and hope that you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Rated T for descriptions of violence, triggering themes and descriptions of anxiety and grief.

There is a story in all of us which must be told, a longing, a cry or sometimes a whisper under starlit skies. Some stories must be told with an ounce of embellishment or a hint of wonder, some stories are those of friends against foe, or of love and friendship, or bravery and valor or the stories telling us nothing at all. Some make us wander our imagination or the world we live others, the special kind, which push us out the door and onto our feet, running to an unknown destination. With the stars above our heads and the dust between our toes, not knowing where they'll lead us.

Our story begins in a land of magic, beyond anything we could imagine ,full of creatures of wonder, beauty and fear. This particular tale is that of friendship , love and how being a little brave and slightly crazy can get you to places you would never have imagined.

******

Rain beat the ground with a roaring drone. The sky- a shocking white- ballooned with clouds of monotone greys and blues with the wind howling icy and wet from the south, sending the trees into a frenzy and the rain pelting down onto the earth in a frenzy.

A tiny black bird swooped to the ground, its bright orange tail following it. It cocked its head to the side eyeing the long lump of black in front of it. The appeared to be alive, its body gently rising and falling with every shallow breath.

The blackbird pecked its pale, wet hand. It did not move. She tried again, this time harder, releasing a small pool of warm liquid. And jumped back as a loud, pained groan rose from the lump, its eyes fluttered open for a moment and squeezed shut.

The bird did not understand what had drawn it to the living lump. It radiated a different kind of warmth, as if it were a living part of the forest itself. The little blackbird hopped to the hand it had pecked and huddled itself inside, the long fingers of the lump gently curled around it, as if it knew not to hurt the bird. As if holding onto the only other life beside it. The blackbird made itself comfortable and cooed softly into the wind, its coo rising in three musical notes that gently radiated throughout the forest, calling to the other creatures for help.

The day passed much the same, dreary, and grey as the lump swam in and out of consciousness. Sometimes scaring off the little bird when it drew in a great, shuddering breath and collapsed into the darkness again. It was near the late afternoon when the downpour stopped, and a second bird joined the first, fluttering down through the dying sunlight that broke through the clouds. Together they created a heavy melody which caught the ears of a passer-by in the woods.

The blackbird heard it first.

The creature’s footsteps were soft, avoiding the drying leaves, but squelching in the mud. The was one from the big folk that bumbled through the undergrowth. It replied to the bird's call in a descending tune and the birds sang their melody louder in response.

The bird's call grew louder, echoing the urgency of the man's whistle.

The footsteps sped up as the man broke into a run. He hurtled through the undergrowth, his grey robes tangling in the creepers and branches of the trees and his beard swaying this way and that as he sprinted. All the while whistling and wondering what on Aman had gotten the little creatures into such a frenzy.

With a final, dwindling note the man burst through the treeline and into the small clearing, nearly scaring the birds half - way to death.

“My friends!" came his soft voice, "What is the matter and who is this?" he asked, kneeling beside the soaked lump, and tentatively turning them over. The man's bushy, grey brows furrowed together; his wrinkled face aged as a look of concern came over him.

"It cannot be!" he quietly exclaimed as he examined the unconscious girl. Muttering in a quiet mix of confusion and awe. Her long blonde hair plastered around her deathly pale face. Her shallow breathing worried him, as did her freezing fingers.

The man gently pushed aside her hair to feel her pulse, the downpour forgotten as a large, pointed ear came into view. He could not believe who lay before him. It should not be possible. She had been gone for many, many years.

The bird's chirped uncontrollably, fluttering hastily in front of the old man, telling him that the elf was fading and fading quickly.

"Yes, I see. You two flapping about like headless chickens is not going to help her!" he said with a huff of annoyance before resting his hand on her stomach and chanting softly as the setting sun broke out of the clouds.

His chanting stopped and her breath became even and deeper, the two birds curled themselves in the crooks of her neck. Warmth began to spread throughout her body, her fingers and toes ached and painfully tingled as blood rushed back to her muscles. She slowly clenched and unclenched her fingers. Her pallor turned a healthy shade of creams and pinks as her face warmed up.

The old man leaned back on his haunches as her eyes rapidly opened and closed allowing the late afternoon light in.

"Slowly my dear, there is no need to rush." said the old man with a strange twinkle in his eye. He moved to block the light," There, that should help."

"Wha- Where am I? " her voice was a hoarse whisper, "why does everything hurt? "

Was all managed to say before she turned on her side and vomited. Her head spun whilst she wretched, tears streamed down her face and her muscles were too heavy for her bones. The man gently pulled back her hair and rubbed her back before helping her sit up so he could clean her face with a cloth he produced from under his robes.

"Here, sip on this." He held the waterskin to her mouth with one hand, supporting the back of her neck with the other." Slowly now..."

The water tasted warm and leathery. She wanted nothing more than to hastily gulp down the cool liquid and forced herself to slow down, knowing that she would choke if she did not.

After a little more coaxing and telling her to sip slowly the elf turned to him," Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you?" She spoke in Westron and he answered in a tongue she had once spoken.

The man's face lit up, his eyes glinted with something she could not put her finger on, " I- I am Gandalf, though you know me as Mithrandir. And to answer your earlier question, you are in the forest surrounding the Great East Road, on Middle - Earth, or Arda as the Elven-folk call it."

It was at this point where the girl gave Gandalf or Mithrandir or whatever she was supposed to call him the most befuddled look he'd ever seen on such a fair face.

"Elven-folk? How do you know who I am? What do you mean Middle – Earth? And what do you mean that I once knew you? This... this must be a joke!" she fired questions at him before she could process what she was saying.

Her mind swarmed with them, this was all too much, she hadn't heard anyone but herself speak of such a place in years. The plains of Aman had become a mere fairy-tale to her. A place where she escaped to when the world became too busy, a place filled with memories and songs that were not hers. This could not be real.

" Oh dear Lord, what's happening?" She passed her hands down her face and stuck her fingers in her hair, she felt her lungs expand and flatten with each hastening breathe. " No no no no ! This is a dream!" hot tears escaped her eyes," No no no, Middle Earth doesn't exist! No no no!”

Gandalf gently pried her hands from her hair and held them in his much larger and calloused ones. He looked deeply into her eyes, giving her an assuring look, his eyes full of concern.

"Breathe with me, come on, in...And out, there you go my dear, let's go again." She did as he did, one deep breath after the other until her breathing slowed, and her mind cleared.

Gandalf squeezed her hands reassuringly, and rose to his feet, "Everything is fine my dear, you can trust me. Now I need you go to stand; can you do that?"

The elf nodded slowly and took his hands as he slowly pulled her up. The sun was now gone and the sky had cleared, revealing constellations she had only seen in her dreams. Or at least, she thought that she had seen them there.

She looked down at herself, her black jeans were brown, her shoes were caked with mud and her coat was practically a sponge. She grunted in dissatisfaction; it was her favourite coat.

Gandalf looked her over, before turning and sniffing the air, his face flushed with worry, he smelt woodsmoke in the air, it was heavy and scented. "No.. there is something foul at work." He said to no one in particular.

The elf was currently trying to shoo away the birds that were trying to sit on her shoulders, " Come on Lostoriel, we must get moving." said Gandalf as he picked up his staff and ploughed off into the woods.

Lostoriel? She knew that name, it was not hers, hers was Laura. Lostoriel was the name of a girl long lost and far away.

The elf, Lostoriel hesitated, her mind cried out for her to turn and run the other way. What are you doing following a strange, homeless man into the forest? Do you want to die?

Before she could continue to argue with herself Gandalf appeared at the edge of the clearing, he looked rather annoyed and unsettled all at once. He raised a hairy eyebrow, "Well, are you coming with or do you fancy being eaten by trolls?"

She didn't know if it was the ridiculousness of the notion of trolls or the stern tone of Gandalf ' s voice which spurred her feet on before her brain could register what was happening.


	2. Chapter 2

"Gandalf! Where exactly is back?" asked Lostoriel for the fourth time in half an hour. Her three first attempts had been answered with a simple, "Back." And now she was beginning to grow tired of his endless ability to be cryptic.

This time the old wizard stopped dead in his tracks. Lostoriel skidded to a halt nearly slamming head first into his back. She panted, holding her side as her muscles pinched together. For an old man he ran with stamina and she was struggling to keep up.

His silver-grey beard swirled around with him as he spun and gave her a withering stare, "We are going back to the Company." Gandalf huffed in frustration, "If there are trolls in the area, they may need saving."

"Who is this Company?' And you still haven't answered my first question." Lostoriel took the opportunity to tie back her dirty blonde hair, it had plastered itself down her back and clung to her waist. Curling and threatening to dry into something monstrous.

"I have as a matter of fact answered your questions, just not in the manner you wanted me to. Your questions will be answered soon my dear." His eyebrow almost receded into his hairline. "I suggest exercising a bit of patience."

With that he turned and marched further into the forest, "Oh and," he dug for something beneath the heavy layers of his robes, "You may need this." Gandalf threw a large, sheathed dagger towards her, which she caught easily.

Her eyes widened, the wizard was insufferable! And now he intended on fighting whatever the danger was. Lostoriel unsheathed the dagger, the hilt was wrapped in leather, the blade itself was rather broad and silver steel with strange, delicate engravings on it ,which glinted in the moonlight that streamed through the trees. The hilt fitted comfortably in her hand, it was well balanced, and she flicked her wrist about a few times. The movements felt familiar, though she couldn't remember from where or when.

Lostoriel's eyes glazed over as she stared at the blade, images of great trees swarmed her mind, the golden sunlight which danced amongst their leaves which danced with the wind as if the tree was laughing. She could hear a deep, commanding voice shouting drill orders, something about that voice had made her want to work harder. To push herself further. She saw other lithe figures sparring around her. A sword collided with hers, twisting her wrist and fingers awkwardly and sending her blade flying in the opposite direction.

A face suddenly came into view, shouting at her, she jerked as he grabbed her shoulders and shook her as he scolded her.

"Lostorii-"someone was shaking her, the voice was muffled, but urgent.

"Lostoriel!" they shouted, the elf jumped at the familiar name, dropping the dagger from her hand and swore as it hit the ground with a thud. She had not been called that for many years.

It was Gandalf. She realised as the split image of his wrinkled face became one.

"What happened?" asked Lostoriel, bending to a crouch to pick up her sword. The night sky was beginning to lighten, the stars were fading into the slow morning light. "I've been here for hours haven't I? How?"

Gandalf's eyebrows furrowed together and he pressed his lips together tightly, seeming to be in deep thought. "I don't know. Now come, hurry, we don't have time to explain and I need your help."

The old wizard bolted off into the forest, Lostoriel hot on his heels. The sunlight was touching the roots of the trees, stretching like wildfire as they ran. The forest began to thin out, soon they were coursing across an open field and through an abandoned camp.

Whoever was here left in a hurry.

They ran headlong into the forest again, crashing through the undergrowth and scurrying across a massive rock wall. As they crossed over the top the pair saw a site to behold, three massive, grey, filthy trolls were gathered around a bonfire. Before them stood a rather short, curly-haired fellow in a sack and on a spit above the fire were several stocky men tied to a thick branch. They appeared to be alive, but slowly roasting. And one, incredibly round, ginger- bearded man appeared to be dangling by his ankles over the mouth of a troll.

There were more men strewn in a pile of sacks on the far side of the clearing. So this is the company that Gandalf was talking about! Lostoriel's forehead crinkled as she frowned, from the manner in which he spoke of them, she expected more grandeur.

"Wait!" Came a cry from the small man, Gandalf and Lostoriel froze in stride. The wizard hoped that the hobbit wasn't calling to them. They hid behind overgrown foliage along the rock wall, "No not that one, he's, he's infected!" shouted the little man. The pair breathed a sigh of relief.

"By the way, the name is Laura." She growled, Gandalf purposefully ignored her. Why she was calling herself by such an odd name was all but lost to him.

"So, this is the Company." Said Lostoriel dryly as she voiced her earlier thought, watching the deteriorating scene below.

Gandalf sighed, "Yes indeed. Those are some of the most formidable Dwarf warriors this far East from the Iron Hills." He proudly stated as a roaring cry came from the pile of sacks and spit about them not being infected with parasites. The hidden pair peaked through the breaks in the foliage, observing the scene with mild amusement and knots in their stomachs.

"They're not very impressive." She heard a snort of annoyance from beside her as they observed the situation rapidly descend into danger, the trolls were beginning to catch onto the lie.

"Yes well right now neither are you!" Gandalf hissed, squinting as the morning sun finally stretched its long limbs over the horizon. He scanned the scene below, "Climb down these rocks and crouch as far down as you can."

The Elf's eyes widened, as she stared at him like he was mad before nodding her head in unwanted resolve as she realised that it was no use trying to argue with this man. "What are you going to do?"

The wizard rose from his crouched positon, his joints creaked and clicked as he moved, "I'm going to catch the light. Go!" he shouted in earnest.

Lostoriel scurried down the rock wall and once on the ground folded herself into the smallest ball possible and covered her head. She sunk herself further into the thick, soft bush that covered this part of the rock wall. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, the sound echoed in her ears as her body trembled ever so slightly in fear. She wondered what Gandalf was planning to do.

"Fool?" That was the less intelligent troll from what she had gathered, he reminded her of a fish. It was his bulging and his mouth that fluttered open and close as if he was gasping for air and his ridiculously large eyes.

"The dawn will take you all!" came Gandalf's cry as he stood silhouetted against the rising sun, his beard and hair turning a twinge of orange. Lostoriel's heart hammered against her chest, Gandalf's plan was horrible so far and she hoped that nothing would happen to him. She had no clue where she was, nor what she would do if those trolls found her or if they killed the wizard and left her to save the Company. The thought twisted her stomach. Lostoriel did not dare to breathe in the silence that seemed to stretch endlessly.

Until Gandalf raised his staff above his head and slammed it against the rock with a mighty crack, smoothly splitting it in two pieces, smaller pieces of the rock fell around Lostoriel, crushing the shrubbery around her. A large chunk of the rock landed with a muffled thud and a thunderous creaking sound erupted from the trolls, mixing with their own pained groans as the warm morning sun hit their thick skin and they began to turn into stone. Lostoriel climbed back up the rock to Gandalf and watched in horror and amazement as the vile creatures solidified into grey stone.

"That. Was impressive." Lostoriel stood, breathing deeply with her hands on her hips as a loud chorus of cheers erupted from the sacked Dwarves.

Gandalf smirked before leaping from the rock wall and landing with a loud thud. "Now your turn!" he called up to her. Lostoriel landed with a light bounce, her feet never made a sound on the forest floor.

"Gandalf! I've never been happier to see anyone in my life!" exclaimed the man, as he hopped towards them in his sack Lostoriel saw that he was not a man at all.

"Bilbo! My dear lad!" Gandalf embraced him and then untied the knot around his neck causing the sack to pool around his broad and extremely hairy feet.

He stared at Lostoriel in amazement, "You- You're an elf." he whispered. Her ears were not as large as he thought they'd be, they were pointed upwards and her face was so fair that he swore to himself that he had never seen such beauty before. The pair stood on awkward silence until Gandalf came to the rescue.

"Lostoriel, allow me to introduce you to Bilbo-"

"Oi! " cried a Dwarf who looked like a terrifying Viking, with tattoos across his balding head and an expression of fiery annoyance in his dark eyes. "There's plenty time for introductions later! I don't fancy being slow roasted while you three acquaint yourselves with one another." He growled with a heavy accent as the branch they were tied to, began to creak and pop under their weight.

The trio sprang into action, with Bilbo muttering apologies to the Dwarves as he began to untie them from the sacks. Gandalf and Lostoriel managed to lift the Dwarves off the fire and onto solid ground earning many grateful thank you's. Lostoriel shook out her arms, her muscles were jelly after carrying their weight.

She began to make her way over to Bilbo who was struggling with a few of the knots when she heard an "Excuse me," Come from the Dwarf with the floppy starfish shaped hairstyle. She turned cautiously, she could feel their eyes boring into her skull, "If you don't mind me asking. Who are you?"

The clearing was silent, Lostoriel's eyes bulged within her skull, "I - I am La-" the words refused to unstick from the walls of her throat. She blushed pink, her scratchy voice seemed to be swallowed by the silence.

Gandalf locked eyes with her and imperceptibly shook his head, "Allow me the honour of introducing all of you to my old friend Lostoriel. Lostoriel, this is the Company of Thorin Oakenshield."

"Lostoriel." The hairs on her back stood on end, the whisper was too soft for their ears to hear, but it rang clear as daylight to her Elven ears. The voice was deep, almost a rumble in the wind, she knew that voice. But who it belonged to she did not know.

"Uncle, whoa steady there!" A young blonde haired Dwarf held his arms around his raven haired uncle who was leaning against the tree beside him and gripping onto his nephew's shoulder with his free hand. "Thorin, you alright?" he worriedly searched his body for any sign of injury from their earlier battle. His uncle had lost his footing just now and was almost gasping for breath.

Thorin straightened himself, standing steady on both feet. The wind had been knocked out of his lungs, had he not grabbed Fili he would've fallen to his knees. He did not understand how this was possible.

Dead.

That day they had left her for dead. He deeply inhaled, in an attempt to slow his racing heart and stop the lead heavy lump that had begun to form in his throat. "Yes Fili, I'm alright...Just lost my balance for a moment, my leg went dead after having Oin and Kili nap on it." He let out a gentle laugh, squeezing Fili's shoulder reassuringly, his eyes locking with hers for a fleeting moment, two sets of blue conveying the same confusion and pain. Thorin turned away, pulling his mask over his heart.

"Get dressed and get moving. We'll rest at nightfall."

"And this is Myrtle." Bilbo stroked her snout, scratching the puff of white hair above her nose.

He and Lostoriel were moving through the forest leading the ponies back to the camp, through dappled patches of sunlight that touched the forest floor.

The Dwarves were busy getting dressed again and most of them were still in their odd, grower-like suits. Revealing a lot more than Lostoriel wanted to see.

The Elf leaned towards the pony, she had an apple tucked in her hand, which Myrtle sniffed out without the slightest bit of hesitation. Lostoriel began to softly speak to the pony, its ears pricked up at the gentle sound of her voice.

"That's bribery." cut in Bilbo as he moved closer to his beloved pony.

Lostoriel turned, giving him a look of mock hurt, "It is not."

"Is too. Myrtle refuses to befriend anyone until they feed her something or the other."

"Yes well, that's a sign of a spoilt pony."

"Hmm, I can't argue with that." agreed Bilbo with a laugh, "Now before you uncover any more of our secrets, we're still missing two ponies. Daisy and Bungo."

Lostoriel handed him Myrtle's reins, "Here, you lead the rest back and I'll go looking for the other two."

Bilbo nodded his thanks, but looked rather nervous at the idea of herding them back to camp. Lostoriel caught the pleading expression, "Just start leading one, the rest should follow."

The Hobbit, as Lostoriel had learnt during their walk, nodded his thanks with an embarrassed "right" and began lead the ponies away.

Lostoriel turned in the direction of the well where most of the ponies were. A warm feeling had settled in her stomach, she felt as if she'd begun to befriend the Hobbit. Bilbo was quiet, but kind and told excellent stories when given the opportunity. And best of all, he was not as cryptic as Gandalf!

In her musings she walked past the well and was winding her way to the small clearing where the Dwarves were.

There in the patchy sunlight stood two chestnut coloured ponies grazing on the short grass. Lostoriel cautiously made her way towards them, the last thing she wanted them to do was bolt.

"Hullo there Daisy," she tugged an apple out her coat pocket and held it up to the pony. This is definitely bribery, she thought, smiling to herself as the pony began to eat the apple out of her palm. Lostoriel stroked Daisy's white snout, "There's a good girl."

A wet nose bumped into her shoulder, "Bungo, don't worry I didn't forget about you." She laughed, it was a musical sound that rang out clear as daylight. Fishing out the second apple she turned to give it to Bungo.

"What made you come back?" she nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Thorin's rumbling voice ahead of her in the clearing.

She sighed in relief when she realised that she wasn't anywhere near him, but was hidden by the thick treeline. Lostoriel didn't know what to make of his emotional reaction to her presence. Her head ached when she tried to remember why she had felt so pained in that moment. She wondered whether he had known her before, like Gandalf had?

"Looking behind." Lostoriel smirked, bathing in the joy that he was just as vague with them as he was with her.

One of the ponies whined, her heartbeat sped up as she hushed Bungo by giving him another apple. "We don't want to get caught."

Thorin's voice suddenly grew soft with emotion, "Where did you find her?"

There was a long pause in the conversation as Gandalf gathered his thoughts.

"A little ways South of here, past the small stream that runs through this part of the woods. She was unconscious, lying in the rain. Had I not been led to her, she might have not survived the night."

Numbness ran across Lostoriel's body, guilt ate at her mind, but she couldn't stop listening to them. She had too many questions and too few answers.

"Led to her. How?" Thorin sounded desperate, almost hopeful.

"By two little birds whose call echoed through the woods. She's a WoodElf Thorin, the forest looks after her though she may not realise it."

WoodElf... I'm a WoodElf. It was absurd and all too much for her to comprehend. Frankly it sounded like a load of nonsense. Where she lived the word woodelf existed only in fairy tales, as figments of the imaginations of writers. She rubbed the tip of her ear as she turned away, it had been a part of her long since forgotten. Buried deep within the steep reaches of her memory, of her soul. A new name, a new past was the mantra she had lived by for years and now who she had been was chipped away. Lostoriel froze in mid-stride.

"Gandalf. Is it really her?" Thorin's voice was barely above a whisper.

"It is." answered Gandalf sombrely.

"How Gandalf? Why now?"

"I do not know Thorin. The answers will be revealed soon. Here's is one thing I can tell you. She has no memory of her life in Middle Earth. No memory of me, or of you. Save for a few semblances of feelings."

Lostoriel felt nothing and everything all at once. She was frozen on the spot, every bone in her body seemed to ache. She heard Thorin walk away with heavy footsteps.

"Do not lose hope my friend. Lostoriel's memory will come back in its own time. There was a pause before Thorin walked away again.

Lostoriel breathed in deeply, she hadn't realised that she'd been holding her breath for so long. The ground swayed a little under her feet, but that was just the anxiety that was building within her.

As Lostoriel quietly lead the ponies away, the cold realisation knocked the wind from her lungs.

She was and alone. In a terrifying world with no one to turn to.


	3. Of Gold and Starlight

The stench from the troll cave was a mixture of unearthly horror. Lostoriel scrunched her nose and tried not to gag, she had placed herself as far as she could from the hoard after being offered a chance to go into the cave by Gandalf. She had thoroughly refused for the sake of her nose.

She had seated herself on a large rock to the far side of the clearing, far enough from the Company for a sense of privacy, but close enough for them to help in case of an emergency. Lostoriel had sat, crossed legged with lines creasing her forehead and with one lip pulled beneath the other as she mulled over the conversation she had overheard.

As they had ridden to the cave she could not turn her eyes toward Thorin or Gandalf. The fact that they knew more about her than she did had set her teeth grinding. She began to pick out the brambles and leaves that had gotten stuck in her dirty blonde hair.

Whatever trust she'd created with Gandalf was quickly depleting. As for Thorin, she didn't yet know what to make of him. Dead. What did he mean by dead? As far as she knew she was perfectly alive. She had glared at the back of his head as if that could allow her to read his mind. Much to her disappointment it didn't work, but did succeed in making him feel mildly uncomfortable as he kept shifting in his seat.

Lostoriel was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't heard or noticed a Dwarf coming towards her "Here, let me help Lass." It was Bofur, yes that had managed to creep up on her.

He met her cool eyes with a warm smile that made his skin crinkle at the corners of his eyes and mouth. His ears seemed to lift with the pure joy that oozed from him when he was happy. Bofur had been one of the few Dwarves to try and acquaint themselves with Lostoriel. The blond haired Elf had looked frustrated and lost on the ride to the troll cave, he had successfully gotten her to laugh at at least one of his jokes and to eat a piece of left over bread from the previous nights' supper.

She seemed like a lovely girl, from the small conversation they'd had, Thorin didn't seem happy about her being with them, but then again he was rarely happy about many things. But Bofur wasn't going to let that stop him from being a friend until she left them at whatever point.

He was beginning to feel uncomfortable under her scrutinising stare, Bofur coughed softly trying to regain her attention. "Lass?" Lostoriel's head jerked up, "I'm sorry Bofur, and I'm a little distracted at the moment. Your help is welcome, I suspect that I may lose a few fingers because of these ridiculous knots." She finished with an apologetic smile.

"No need to apologise lass, my ears are here for listening if you'd like to talk." he said gently picking up a large bunch of her hair and began to brush out her hair with his fingers. Lostoriel surprisingly didn't feel uncomfortable, she'd gathered that he was a gentle soul who, besides Bilbo, had tried to befriend her because they wanted to, not because they needed to.

"Thank you Bofur. I just don't understand what I'm doing here. Or how everyone seems to know me when I don't even know who I am. I'm not even sure how I got here in the first place. And the only person who seems to know everything about me is being annoyingly cryptic." She thought it would be better for everyone if she left out the part about Thorin knowing who she is too.

Bofur paused braiding her hair, giving her a sympathetic smile, "Fair enough that you'd be asking all that, I would too. You'll find your answers soon enough, I unfortunately have no power in persuading Gandalf," he nodded towards the wizard who had emerged from the troll hoard along with Thorin and a few others, "to come clean. It almost never works."

"What almost never works?" piped up Kili, I think that's his name, as he swaggered over to them, throwing and catching a small, smooth, black stone.

Bofur quickly tied off Lostoriel's braid and covered her ears with his large hands, "Killing trolls by smashing off their jambags!" he laughed.

Lostoriel's face drooped, his hands covering her ears did nothing to prevent her hearing. "You know," she pried his hands away from head, with a look of annoyance, "One, I'd rather not tell you my solution to that problem. And two, covering my ears does nothing to my hearing."

Bofur and Kili gave each other a horrified look, "You weren't supposed to her that."

Lostoriel smirked feeling proud of herself, "Why? Because I'm a lady?"

Their looks of horror only increased with Kili's pupils nearly becoming as wide as a saucer when a ginormous something began to crash through the under bush. It sounded like a sled to her,

"Something's coming!" shouted Thorin, as he stated the obvious. Lostoriel rolled her eyes at him, she wasn't sure why she felt such a sudden irritation towards the Dwarf.

"Stay together! Hurry now. Arm yourselves." Came Gandalf's cry, the sharp scrap of metal being scraped against metal echoed across the clearing along with the creaking of Kili's bow as the Dwarves pulled out their swords and axes. Lostoriel whipped out her dagger and crouched, the stance came to her naturally. Kili made to move in front of her, but she hastily stood and walked a few paces in front of him.

"I don't need you to protect me!" She growled. Lostoriel felt that she could defend herself against whatever it was, she may have not remembered who she was, but her instincts had never felt stronger.

Kili gave her an apologetic look, but his eyes were still hard set in determination. He didn't understand why she coldly rejected his help.

"Thieves! Fire! Murder!" came the cry as a group of tethered rabbits burst out from the shrubbery, followed by a robed man on a wooden sled.

The stunned silence was palpable, none of the Dwarves made a move until Gandalf addressed the man as, "Radagast! Radagast the Brown. What on earth are you doing here?" A collective breath of relief spread across the clearing as they lowered their weapons. He was a friend of Gandalf's, a strange one at that as he pulled off his filthy brown hat to reveal a small bird's nest made out of his thick, blonde hair. It was then that Lostoriel, with disgust, noticed the trial of bird poo that fell from his hair to his chin. Whatever was left in her empty stomach threatened to come up.

His wide blue eyes wildly took in the clearing as if he was looking for something, "I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something's wrong. Something's terribly wrong." He burst out, before taking a moment to muse on another thought, "But then again, something is terribly right!"

Radagast whistled a four note tune and a minute later two birds, one blue, one black came fluttering into the clearing, briefly passing over Lostoriel's head with a gust of wind and settling into the nest in the wizard's hair. He scrunched up his nose in thought before pursing his lips. "Just give me a minute. Um, oh, I had a thought, and now I've lost it. It was, it was right there, on the tip of my tongue."

She froze staring at the birds, who cocked their heads to the side as they looked back at her. As if to say, yes it's us again. How on earth? The confusion that had begun to fade came back with full force as she stared at the pair of birds that had saved her.

Gandalf gave Radagast another moment to gather his thoughts before Radagast, much to the frustration of the Dwarves, discovered he had a stick insect on his tongue.

"Right then, what has gone right my dear friend?" asked Gandalf from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

Radagast put his pointy hat back on, "Oh yes! The Daughter of the Wood has returned. The wood here is rejoicing, the birds are watching. A shadow in the rain, is what they called her. I had not thought she would ever return. She-"

Gandalf looked to Lostoriel, catching her eye and moving his eyes back to Radagast. She caught the message, her stomach somersaulted, she had wanted answers but had not expected them so soon.

"I was entrusted to give you this upon your return, should I have found you." Radagast rummaged through his robes in an attempt to find the object he was looking for.

"It's somewhere...In-" he pulled back a layer of clothing launching a small hedgehog into the air with a small , "It's not Sebastian!" laughed Radagast.

The Elf caught the tiny creature with ease, it nestled gently against her chest. "Hello there little friend."

The hedgehog seemed to smile, his marbled brown, white and creme coat and bristles shivered with excitement. He rolled over onto his back, allowing her to tickle his furry stomach.

Gandalf watched with contentment as Lostoriel befriended the creature, he then gazed back to his old friend who was still trying to find his entrusted object. Radagast. You have not changed my old fellow.

"Ah hah! Here it is!" Radagast's hand shot into the air, a silver chain was snaked between his fingers and glinted in the sunlight. The wizards cool eyes were wild , darting here and there, seeming to peep into every corner of the clearing. He was lost in thought until Gandalf coughed and brought him back into reality. He's afraid.

"Forgive me my Lady , something dark and full of malice has begun to grow in the East, it has had me in quite the panic. But that story is for later. "

He stretched out his hand, in his wrinkled palm was a leaf pendant, strung upon a dainty gold chain. The leaf itself was rather small, it was emerald green with golden veins and a gold backing. Lostoriel's eyes widened, she set Sebastian on the ground, who scurried away to hide in the folds of Radagast's robes.

"It is yours. Your father gave this to me in the year you disappeared. Him and I and many others searched for you all around the Mountain searched the rivers, the canyons and the depths of the forest where the darkness was growing.

We could not find you. When we returned to the Woods he travelled to my cottage to hand me this and asked me to give you this message." he paused , drawing in a long breath.

Lostoriel wished that he would continue, his pause felt like an eternity. Her muscles stretched and twisted beneath her skin in anticipation of what he was to say next. qHer father... she did not remember him well. Lean, tall, she remembered that he felt like sunshine on a winter's day and like the gentle lapping of the water against the shore.

"If you are lost, whisper to the trees. Sing to the stars and they will lead you home. I will never stop searching for you. I will rip down the very doors of Mandos's halls to bring you back. You are my everything little one. I love you, your brother loved you. And we need you."

The ground rippled beneath her feet, her head swam as a wave of nausea came over her. Lostoriel sank to the ground needing to calm herself down. This was .. she didn't know what it was. Radagast knelt in front of her, gently moving her hands from her face and curling them in his.

"My dear, I know you have been gone for a long time now. Over a hundred years in fact.. But your Ada is waiting for you. They have been waiting a long, long time. It is time to find them, time to know who you are again. " His heart went out to her, but he knew that her return was no coincidence with what darkness was brewing.

My Ada... A hundred years..I've been gone for more than a hundred years!? Wha- How is that possible? How did I leave?

Her head felt as if it was going to explode with the enormous amount of questions that pushed against her skull to be answered.

Gandalf and Radagast shared a look of worry as Lostoriel gripped her hair and breathed shallowly.

"My dear, Radagast did not tell you this to overwhelm you." Gandalf laid a hand on Radagast's shoulder gesturing that they should give her space.

Lostoriel's mind was racing. Starlight.. Starlight.. Home, songs, the trees, the voices.. Home...In her memory she was beneath a canopy of trees, the sunlight flickered between the branches and somewhere to her left a stream babbled happily.

In her hands was a bow , an arrow rested between her fore and middle fingers. She saw the target board clearly, three arrows pierced the inner three rings. Someone stood to "Concentrate, clear your mind. Okay, now notch your arrow and slowly draw your string back. " His voice was deep like thunder and smooth like custard. He felt like summer, like the voices of the trees that had once sang to her.

Lostoriel followed his instructions, she felt discouraged, she felt as if she could not do it.

"Deep breath in and hold. Now breathe out and fire!" She caught a glimpse of bright hair, of broad shoulders as she released the arrow. Lostoriel felt happiness engulf her body, her hands shot up into the air as she celebrated the shaft hitting bull's eye.

She turned to the someone standing beside slender face was becoming clearer in her memory.

Lostoriel shook herself out of her past. She sprung up, tear-stained, feeling everything all at once. "Thank you Radagast, but I don't think I can do this..." Lostoriel let the necklace that Radagast had snuck into her hands fall back into the wizard's hands. She turned and briskly walked off to the edge of the clearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's read this story so far! And thank you for reviewing and leaving kudos! I appreciate it!


	4. A Ridiculous Amount of Running

Lostoriel heard the paws grating against the earth, inching closer towards them. Something felt amiss in this woods. The creature was almost upon them. She leapt down from the branch she was perched in and skidded down the slope to Thorin, kicking up a cloud of dust on the way down. But was too late, as she reached the bottom a hideous, gigantic wolf growled murder and pounced towards them.

Thorin whipped out his sword and struck the creature along its throat sending it flying to the ground. Dwalin rammed its head in with his axe before Thorin made the fatal stab through its windpipes with a shout.

Lostoriel and Bilbo had the same look of horror on their faces. A second wolf -creature pounded into the clearing from behind Thorin. Kili drew his bow back and sent an arrow flying towards it. The shaft hit its mark as Lostoriel unexpectedly found herself unsheathing her sword and striking the creature across the head as it fell towards her.

Thorin and Dwalin, still in the frenzy of the last attack finished it off as Lostoriel stabbed it through the abdomen. It was dead. The elleth's from her hand, hitting the ground with a clang. 

"How.. on.. earth?" she panted heavily, a stunned silence echoed across the clearing. Dwalin and Thorin's eyes met, both darkening with the same question and mistrust. But did not last for long as another Warg crashed through the trees only to be shot by Kili and sliced to its death by Dwalin and Thorin.

"Warg scouts, which means an orc pack is not far behind!" said Thorin removing his sword from the beast.

"Who did you tell beyond your kin?" yelled Gandalf earnestly.

"No one!" cried Thorin.

"Who did you tell!?" Lostoriel heard Gandalf yell as she heard the pack drawing nearer with speed. The vibrations of the wargs' unsteady gait travelled through her feet and a cool, grey wave pushed into her consciousness. She could feel the malice of the orc creatures approaching.

Vaguely in the background she heard and felt Bilbo's fear and confusion as he questioned the obvious. She heard Thorin saying that he swore he told no one else of their quest, her mind was distractedly listening to the vibrations of the world around her.

"What in Durin's name is going on?" Thorin's body chilled from his skin to his bones, his mind swam with static noise. He did not know what to do, he had expected attacks and bumps along the road. But not so soon.

Gandalf drew his bushy eyebrows together, his face aging. "You're being hunted." The wizard eyed the clearing as if the solution to their predicament could be found there.

Lostoriel felt just as clueless as Thorin did. She could sense the orc pack coming, but did not know what to do or explain how she knew this. "Thorin- "

"We have to get out of here!" Dwalin cut her off from beside the fallen Warg.

Well isn't he just a ray of sunshine. Thought Lostoriel when Ori came running back to the clearing. She have the bald Dwarf the dirtiest look she could muster, if he had just let her finish. Her blood began to boil.

"We can't! We have no ponies, they've bolted!" The young Dwarf's voice was higher in pitch, fear hung at every inch of his face. Lostoriel could see him vibrate ever so slightly, or maybe that's just me.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the cool morning air travel down her throat and fill her lungs. Be calm, everything will be fine. And out. She released hear breath, or everything won't be fine and you'll die and maybe take Dwalin with you.

She stared at the wizards and Thorin, her eyebrows rising in expectation. He scanned each of the Dwarves ensuring that none were hurt, when he met her eyes his face scrunched together and he briskly turned to Gandalf.

"I'll draw them off!" stated Radagast earnestly. The entire Company gazed at him like he was a mad man.

"Is he serious?" whispered Bilbo from her left, the poor Hobbit's eyes were as wide as saucers.

"These are Gundabad Wargs; they will outrun you." Gandalf stepped towards Radagast, pursing his lips together in concern. Gundabad, the name sounded familiar but her brain refused to remember what its importance was.

"These are Rhosgobel Rabbits; I'd like to see them try!" Radagast ended with such zeal, confidence and with an expression that reflected the upmost determination that Lostoriel thought he was brave bordering on madness.

She turned to Bilbo, unsheathing her sword as she did so, the metal humming in tune with the howls of the wargs "Yeah. Apparently he is."

()()()

They bolted out of the tree line and onto the open plains. Gandalf took the lead, sprinting in all directions through the grey boulders and rocky outcrops that dotted the yellow-green grasslands. Lostoriel followed him some distance from behind. Why he had asked her to cover his back, she had no idea. As they ran Lostoriel scanned the land around them, it was beautiful, grey-brown mountains rose like giants to one side and the other was dotted with trees and flowers of all colours.

"Do you see them?" her eyes weren't merely admiring the scenery. She slowly turned, taking in every detail as she did so. Gandalf was using her for her sight. Lostoriel squinted as she gazed at the tree line, the sun rested just above the trees. The wizard was insufferable.

"No not yet, but I can sense them." As they ran behind a rocky outcrop Radagast's "come and get me!" Echoed from the wide berth he had given them as he led the orc pack far from their position.

"I see them now, just there beyond the ridge in the deep indent in the land." She pointed with her sword somewhat south from their positon. "Looks like there's enough space between us and them."

Gandalf's skin wrinkled around his eyes as he struggled to see what Lostoriel saw, they were far off brown specks to him. "Hmm I think you're right. Come on!" Gandalf's deep voice bellowed across the plains with ease, reaching the ears of the Dwarves hidden just beyond the treeline.

Gandalf smiled in triumph as he turned away from Lostoriel to watch the Company tear across the open fields to their position. She was beginning to regain her former skills, he did not have to tell her to watch their backs as the Company caught up with them and she took up the rear with Thorin.

"Come and get me!" Radagast's voice echoed across the plains. Lostoriel almost laughed as they ran, he's bloody brilliant! Mildly insane but brilliant!

Thorin glared at her over his right shoulder, "What are you doing!? Get into the centre!"

Lostoriel resisted the urge to roll her eyes and punch him, "I'm helping!" he did have a point, but she felt the bravery well up in her like a wave and crash into her bloodstream. She did not understand why she felt this way, or why the sword felt comfortable in her palm as they ran.

He vigorously shook his head, "Don't. Be foolish! You'll get yourself killed!" said he through short breaths.

"I won't!"

The orcs streamed out some distance behind them. The wargs could pick up on their scent, Radagast and his rabbits seemed to not be doing the trick. Thorin pushed himself to the front of the group, his anger fuelled him on. The rest of the Company followed closely behind as he ducked behind a massive jagged outcrop.

The Company came to an abrupt halt barely missing each other as they hid beneath the layers of the grey rock. "Ori no! Come back!" worriedly yelled Thorin as Ori ran out, past the outcrop. He grabbed Ori's pack to pull him back towards himself before the dwarf got them spotted.

Lostoriel barely made it behind the rock before Gandalf called for them to move on and led them across the plains.

"Where are you leading us!?" came Thorin's annoyed voice from the front of the group.

Gandalf stayed silent and kept moving. Lostoriel had to hold in her laughter, it feels good to know I'm not the only one who he does that too.

They ran for some time, dipping in the indentations in the land, scrambling up the short hills and zigzagging through the rocks and small trees. Lostoriel stayed at the back of the group because of Bilbo who was lagging behind, "Come on Bilbo! Hurry!" She gave him a gently shove forward before stopping to assess their deteriorating situation.

The Orc pack was not far behind them, they were catching their scent in the wind. Radagast had lost their attention, his rabbits no longer looked as delectable as Dwarves. "I'm trying to!" came his shout as she covered the growing distance between her and the Company.

Silence.

The Dwarves, Bilbo and Gandalf had taken refuge behind a massive rock as the Orcs scented them out. A sharp, grating voice hit her ears from behind them, the hair on her back and arms stood on end as it growled in a dark, malicious language.

Her heart beat heavily against her chest, the thrumming sound echoed in her ears, she heard the dwarves' breath quicken. Above them, on the rock, crept the creature. Lostoriel was pulled back towards Fili by the wrist as the creature loomed towards the edge of the rock. She nodded her thanks to the blonde Dwarf and gazed upward.

She saw a pair of hideous metal boots hanging from both sides of the warg, its grey-blue legs were scarred with what looked like intentional war patterns and spikes that had been imbedded in its skin. She heard its breath and resisted recoiling at the sheer abominable scent that arose from the filthy creatures.

She was snapped out of her observations by Kili who was drawing back his bow and taking him at the creatures above them. He relaxed as he released the arrow, the tension among the Dwarves was palpable, and Lostoriel felt the air thicken around them as the booted creature shrilly screamed with all its might as it fell off the warg and onto the ground.

The creature was hideous, so this is an orc, she thought wryly as the Dwarves finished off the rider and its furry stead. The wretched orc wouldn't stop screeching until it was finally dead and had successfully given away their position.

Before she knew it they were running again after another vile orc's guttural call travelled across the grassy plains and the orc pack closed in on their tails as Radagast had disappeared.

They had only covered a short distance when the wargs and orcs surrounded them from all sides. They had no choice but to stop in an overly exposed part of the plains, the trees and boulders had falling far behind them by now. The Company stood in a wide circle around a singular outcropping of rock, there was no escape.

"We're not going to die." Lostoriel hissed out as she brought her sword up towards her face, daring the orcs to come to her. She ignored the persistent voice in her head that told her to turn and run. She was terrified and had no clue what she was doing. But carried on anyway.

"Kili! Shoot them!" came Thorin's command as the orcs closed in on them. His nephew did just that, orcs and wargs fell alike at the mercy of Kili's marks-manship.

"We're surrounded!" Fili whipped out both his swords, his eyes had a fey look to them.

Lostoriel frantically looked around for Bilbo, her heart rate calmed when she saw him wedged between the Dwarves, his sword and walking stick held up and proud. All the dwarves were slowly circling together, Ori attempted to shoot the leader of the pack with a rock from his slingshot and narrowly missed the orc as it came towards them.

Everyone was here. Except, "Where is Gandalf!?" she and Kili asked in unison. Both noticing the wizards' disappearance.

"He has abandoned us!" angrily shouted Dwalin adjusting his steely grip on his axe. A feeling of unbelief and dread filled the air. Gandalf could not have just left them like that. Lostoriel refused to believe it.

The Dwarves straggled together, Lostoriel somehow ended up behind Thorin whose silver sword glinted with the midday sun. Thorin called for them to hold their ground as the orcs prodded their wargs to tighten the circle around them.

"This way you fools!" They all turned in surprise to find half of Gandalf sticking out from the outcrop with exasperation written upon his face. The Dwarves began to run and jump down into the crevice. Their sudden movement caused the wargs to take advantage of their retreat and amble after them.

Thorin took down the first one with a solid blow to the neck with his sword. Lostoriel turned to run, but twisted to the right and spun outward as a sword narrowly missed her neck. She felt the cold breath of air over her face. She covered the short distance between her and the warg, bringing her blade up to meet the orcs' in mid-air and pushing it upward with all her might before the tip of a sword plunged through its torso from the back.

It let out a shriek before falling dead to the ground, Lostoriel didn't have time to notice who had helped her as the warg snapped at her. She stabbed the beast in its eye and plunged the blade in before the creature jerked its head bite her.

She was suddenly thrown to the ground by a massive paw. The breath was knocked from her lungs the moment the paw hit her chest. She heard a slight crack as it knocked her down, she had felt its hot, stale breath upon her face as it loomed over her and dripped with drool. It pressed all its weight down on the one paw, Lostoriel tried to resist it as a deep growl rippled through the beast.

An insult flew towards the warg before a sword whipped through the air and hit the warg with a sickening squelch in its neck. The beast fell with a hollow thump.

Her sword was hastily handed back to her and a hand reached out to help her stand. When she saw who it was she was met with the burning fury of Thorin Oakenshield.

He didn't say a word to her as he turned to call Kili to retreat. But his sky-blue eyes suddenly burned with white fire and his face was hard and jagged like stone. He did not have the time to wonder what she was doing.

"Lostoriel! Come on!" he shouted as he approached the crevice.

She nodded and ran, ignoring the jarring pain in her chest. The Elf turned in time to speed up as an orc astride a warg bounded at full speed towards her and Thorin.

She reached Thorin and made to jump into the hollow with him when she was knocked to the ground a second time.

Thorin slid down the smooth rock into the dark cavern. "Fourteen!" huffed Gandalf. He gazed expectantly at the entrance to the cavern. "Where is Lostoriel!?" he shouted.

Thorin's eyes grew wide, panic overtook him. He only realised now that she had not followed him into the crevice. "Wha- I don't. Lostoriel!" he yelled at the top of his voice hoping that she would hear him.

"Lostoriel!" came his call again, the Elf heard it echo above the outcrop as she jabbed at the soft underbelly of the warg, screaming as she did so. It had pinned her down solidly against the ground, but she had room to move her arms.

The creature fell on its side, sending its rider tumbling towards the ground. She almost laughed in relief, getting up unsteadily and raising her sword towards the orc. It came at her with a cry, adrenaline pumped through her system. Her muscles twitched with anticipation, her blood roared through her head and she felt a wave of courage overtake her.

It was within arm's length of her when a horn rang out along the plains. Tall riders upon white horses galloped like thunder towards the orc pack. Firing arrows in every direction, their shots so powerful that the orcs flew off the wargs and the wargs crashed to the ground within seconds. They notched, aimed and fired without much thought and never missed their target.

The orc in front of her abruptly remembered what it was doing and charged towards her only to be stopped by an arrow that pierced its chest. She watched as it fell with a surprised look upon its face.

The rider who killed the creature stopped his horse dead in its tracks. Lostoriel noticed the deep brown hair cascading down his shoulders, she noticed his warm chestnut eyes and the familiar manner in which he carried himself. This was no man. The rider's eyes widened as he stared at her, his facial expression was unreadable. She stared at him with the same confusion and astonishment.

"My-my Lady." He held out his hand for her to take.

He may have looked familiar, but she was not about to go riding of to who knows where with a stranger. She felt a pull towards these riders, they were a wave of light, unlike the orcs. "Tori?"

Lostoriel froze. No one had called her that in years, which was their name for her. He had begun calling her that. Hadn't he?

Her voice was stuck, she merely looked at him with a fearful gaze before running towards the opening in the rock and sliding down the rock wall. No no no, this! This is not at all possible!

Lostoriel reached the dusty ground with a thump as she lost her balance. She wished she was not here. Lostoriel wish she had the answers she was looking for. She wished she could remember who that was, why he had looked so familiar and why she had not stayed and asked him how he knew her.

Thorin rushed over to her, gently pulling her up. He felt like hugging her, to bring her into an embrace so tight so that she may never escape and harm herself. But he did not. Instead he asked her "What were you thinking!? You almost got yourself killed!?"

His eyes were hard, his nostrils flared in anger and Lostoriel stared back at him with the same fire in her eyes. But he never got his answers as an orc tumbled in from the sunlight.

It landed with a revolting crunch on the hard stone. Thorin's face deepened into set stone as he pulled out the yellow feathered arrow from its chest.

"Elves!" he growled and dropped the arrow to the ground like it was poison.

Lostoriel glared at him, she was not in the mood for his nonsense. What is his problem? She didn't understand why he was behaving in such a two-sided manner. First it was going at her for protecting herself and them and now he had a passionate hate for Elves!

She gasped quietly, but not so inconspicuously as her chest burned. Her stomach twisted and her chest tightened as a wave of nausea came over her. She needed answers. Oin insisted on looking over her, though she was overwhelmed she was not however, objected to the notion of being looked after for a bit.

()()()

"Elladan! Come we are leaving!" the Ellon clutched his bow so tightly that his knuckles were white and he was sure he had heard it crack.

The rest of his troop had finished off the orcs, a few had escaped, but that for once did not concern him. What did concern him had him staring at the hidden entrance and replaying the surreal encounter with the Elleth in his mind.

Tori. Lostoriel! He felt as if he was imagining the entire thing. Had she really been so close to him? Had he really saved her life? His mind swam with the image of her on the ground, staring at him with fear. Her chiselled face had not changed, the jagged scar beneath her ear from the battle they had fought together was still there. Her piercing blue eyes which were streaked with greens and browns as if she had been born out of the forest herself. The girl who they'd grown up with. Who they had mourned for. Who they had searched for hundreds of years had appeared out of nowhere.

Their Tori was here.

A huge, sticky lump grew in his throat, it made his body ache and his eyes mist over with tears that threatened to spill over. His head was fuzzy as memories overloaded his brain.

"Elladan!" a hand on his shoulder jolted him back to the present. He calmed his instinct to damage the individual who touched him when he felt the presence of his brother beside him.

Elrohir. He sighed quietly. Elladan swallowed the lump and blinked back the tears. He breathed in deeply trying to not give his disposition away.

"Brother, what is the matter? Has one of them entered the Valley?" he searched his brothers' face for any sign of worry and little of it. He could not meet Elrohir's eyes. How was he supposed to tell him? What was he supposed to tell him?

Elladan squeezed his brother's hand, giving him the warmest smile he could give. "No, luckily they have not, but I'm afraid that I may have shot one and it may or may not have fallen into the secret passageway." His warm smile turned into a sheepish one in seconds.

"Not it!" Elrohir shouted jovially with a smug smile.

"Nope! Not fair Ro, that is not fair at all." Elladan pulled off his helmet and tossed it at Elrohir who caught it with ease.

"You shot it, you tell Father." Elrohir tossed the helmet back to his brother and mounted his horse once again.

"Ugh fine. I was willing to let you have my dessert for the next month if you cleaned it up for me." His brother rolled his eyes at him and turned his stead away.

"Yeah right! One months' worth of Sidhion's dessert is not enough!" he called over his shoulder with a laugh as he rode off to re-join the troop.

Elladan's shoulders sagged and he grew weary the moment Elrohir rode away. He felt undeserving of his brothers' love, concern and laughter. He felt undeserving of the moment they had just shared and every moment before then, but felt deserving of every terrible moment to come. Every moment that his brother did not knew she was alive would kill him.

With a heavy heart and a flustered mind Elladan mounted his horse and rode to join the Command Troop as they rode into the dying, burning orange light of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to Lancelot2point0 who allowed me to borrow the idea for the last part of this chapter. It was brilliant!
> 
> Thank you for the review and the kudos!


	5. Peace in the Chaos

"OUCH!"

"Sorry lass, just a bit longer and we'll be done." Oin gave her the best consoling smile he could before prodding her bottom two ribs, checking for any breakages to her bones and then punctures to her lungs. That was the last thing that they needed, that she needed. He squinted in the dim light of the small cavern they had slid into, he was not going to find the injuries he was looking for in here.

He moved to examine her left ribs and huffed in relief, her skin around her ribs was blush red, with touches of blues or purples, but he couldn't be sure. His eyes weren't as sharp as they once were, but he trusted in his sense of touch which was telling him that her wound was tender and not severe.

"You can put your blouse back down now."

The grey haired Dwarf relaxed onto his haunches in satisfaction folding his arms as he did so. "Well lassie, you don't seem to have broken anything, maybe a fracture on your right side. But you have lots of bruising. It's not too serious, but I will check that again when we make camp. It's too dark in here for me know what's happening."

Lostoriel pulled her browned dark blue shirt down, the movements making her chest to throb and burn. She nodded at Oin through gritted teeth, "Right. That does not sound so terrible, but it hurts like hell. How long do you think it will take to heal?"

"I know lass, I'll fix you up a tonic when we're out of here." He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, "Well, depending on how bad your injury is it should take one to two months. But for now we have to keep moving. Thorin's orders. Are you going to manage the walk?"

"May we turn around now please?" interrupted Kili from the corner of the cave.

The rest of the Company had left Oin, Kili and much to Thorin's chagrin, Bilbo, who had insisted on staying with her on account of just wanting to make sure she'd be alright. When in fact he needed time to collect himself after his first, but not last encounter with the orcs. He also did not feel like being anywhere near Thorin, the Dwarf was radiating fury like it was his job.

She nodded vigorously, "Yes you can Kili." The young Dwarf spun around with a mischievous grin. Lostoriel rolled her eyes and laughed which quickly turned into pained groans.

"I …" she gritted her teeth, "I should be alright, hopefully. Where exactly are we going?"

"I'm not sure lass." Responded Oin, "Gandalf has got us going to who- knows-where."

Lostoriel attempted to rise from the rock she was perched on and fell back down, hissing from her clenched jaw. "You know I take that back." Oin, Kili and Bilbo moved to steady her in case she tried to get up again.

"Here we've got you." Cooed Bilbo as he gently pulled her up from her back and elbow, with Kili doing the same on her right side. Lostoriel hissed and groaned as she felt muscles she had never known she'd had before sharply pull and burn as she stretched them.

"You alright?" asked Kili once she was up on her feet, he handed her thick, black coat to her. Lostoriel nodded and bit back her groans as the pain re-emerged when she attempted to put her coat on. Kili's soft brown eyes softened, in his short lifetime he had broken and bruised his own fair share of ribs from falling from trees, ponies and being thrown to the ground by his brother whilst they were sparring or just wrestling. He understood her pain.

"Yup. I'm alright, it just feels like someone set fire to my chest." she grimaced as Oin led the way down the pathway.

"You'll survive don't worry." Kili patted her shoulder reassuringly.

The pathway between the two rock walls was narrow, just wide enough for them to walk in single file. It seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky when they looked up from below. The sunlight shone thickly and shimmered white towards the edges of the rift that snaked through the land.

They caught up with the Company fairly quickly. Gandalf led them with Thorin following not far behind. The wizard had not answered him during their escape from the orc pack and he was beginning to understand why. The Elves who had fought the orcs had to have come from somewhere. He knew that Rivendell was not far off from where they were. He hoped Gandalf had enough sense to not lead them there. Thorin had no time to be stopped by the very people who refused to give them aid.

Rounding a corner in the Valley, Gandalf beckoned Lostoriel to come walk with him. Turning a concerned eyebrow to the Elleth he asked, "How do you feel my dear?"

The elf adjusted the bag on her shoulders that she had taken from Kili, "I'm alright. Oin suspects it's nothing more than bruising. But the pain in my chest begs to differ."

"That is good, when we reach our destination we can get you seen to." A twinkling began in the wizard's blue eyes, he was up to something.

"Where are we going?"

"To safety and rest my dear."

Ah, there's your ever-so delightfully vague statements again Gandalf. Of course he had not told anyone of his plans. She was beginning to think that the wizard had no sense of what a plan actually was and took action on a whim.

The wizard turned back to the passageway and picked up the pace, they were losing daylight. Not that it mattered, where they were going was where time seemed to waft away at its own leisure. He chanced a glance at Lostoriel behind him. She did not notice that she was beginning to glow. A soft, pearl white light began to emanate from her body. It simmered and radiated in the flickering sunlight.

He did not say a thing about her glow rather he internally rejoiced. All hope was not completely lost for the She-Elf. Yes, perhaps this will do her some good at last. Thought the wizard as they rounded a soft corner and the sound of rushing water became apparent. It began as a slight trickle but had turned into a quiet cascading that grew louder and louder with each weary step.

"You feel it too, do you not?" he asked cryptically

"Feel what?"

"That lightness in the air and the tug in your belly." piped up Bilbo from beside Gandalf as he began to feel something strong and almost fantastical in the air as they drew nearer to the ending of the passageway.

"You can feel it?" came Gandalf's reply, he was impressed, but not surprised that the Halfling could feel it settling into his bones.

"Yes. It feels like…" The Baggins within Bilbo did not want to admit that there was more to the strange fluttering feeling in his body. That sort of nonsense only existed in the fairytales he had been told as a child. But the Tookish part of him arose and captured the fluttering with two hands, "well, it feels like magic." The conservative Hobbit could hardly believe that the words had come out his mouth.

"It does." Agreed Lostoriel, "Is it real Gandalf?"

Lostoriel felt the pull too, it originated from the slight butterflies in her stomach and spread a warm wave throughout her body, like the warm settling in ones tummy after a sip of hot tea. The pain in her chest had subsided a little, she would not understand it now but that was the Elven magic settling over her.

No one had noticed as yet, most of the dwarves were preoccupied with stopping Bombur from picking off the sprouts and mushrooms which grew within the cracks of the rock.

"That's exactly what it is…A very powerful magic." A knowing smile quirked at the side of Gandalf's lip as his gaze moved from Lostoriel to the path ahead of them.

Vilya. Lostoriel recalled the name from her early childhood. The power of the Elven ring protects the Last Homely House east of the Sea… she remembered the story from her childhood as the line repeated itself in her head until excited murmuring broke out amongst the Company.

Bilbo craned his neck in a futile attempt to see where they were going as the distant calming sound became more apparent. All their spirits seemed to be uplifted at the sound

All of a sudden out of the shadows the sunlight greeted them with an orange glow. The sound and sight of hundreds of waterfalls encompassing the high walls of the valley filled their ears. Gandalf hung towards the back of the group as the rest of them dotted the natural stairway and inched down onto the overlook in awe. Silence filled the air as they took in the breath-taking site before them.

Down below under the white spray, nestled into the mountain side was a city of white stone.

"The Valley of Imladris." Proudly stated Gandalf. "In the Common Tongue, it is known by another name."

"Rivendell." Bilbo breathlessly answered as his face beamed with awe and wonder at the indescribable city.

Lostoriel knew where she was. The realisation dawned upon her as she observed the city from afar. The path through the forest that they used to take to climb the waterfall to the east of the valley was visible from this height. With her elven sight she could see the archery fields and the market ground in the distance. She smiled quietly to herself.

"Here lies the last Homely House east of the sea." The she-Elf released a heavy breath with a small smile, she was correct. Lostoriel the worry within her seeped from her bones and fell down into the valley below .The disorientating pain from her shoulders and neck dulled as comfort spread into her being.

"This was your plan all along, to seek refuge with our enemy." Growled Thorin. His blood boiled over. Lostoriel kept her eyes firmly focused on the spectacular city below them, but her ears tuned into their conversation.

And it's back. Thought Lostoriel. The pain was working its way up her spine again, she wished she had treasured the brief respite more. And found herself wondering why Thorin felt such animosity towards the Elves.

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield." Came Gandalf's firm reply. "The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself!"

"You think the Elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us." Thorin threateningly took a step towards the wizard, leaning on his axe for support.

"Of course they will. But we have questions that need to be answered. If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact and respect and no small degree of charm". Called Gandalf from over his shoulder whilst he led them down the descending mountain path. "Which is why you will leave the talking to me."

The mountain path zigzagged down the rock face and sloped into a grassy hill that looked over the River Bruinen. From here one could see the mouth of the Valley with the crystal blue and white water rushing and then waltzing through the land. The birds sang in tune with the trees and the wind. And for a moment never ending peace seemed to blow the worry about their quest away like the wind on their brows.

Lostoriel's brooding expression masked the growing anxiety with her mind. The Last Homely House. Her muscles around her shoulders and neck were already beginning to ache and pull.

The image of the dark-haired Elf kept playing on her mind. Tori. They had never called her by her full name for as long as she could remember. Whenever she had asked why, they had merely replied with a grin that her name had far too many syllables to be legal.

But it was not him who troubled her heart so greatly. It was his younger brother. The one she had left. She was sure it had been his older brother that had saved her. But doubt nagged at her mind. Was it him? No Lostoriel it could not have been, when you left were they not still in the North? But what if it was him? Would he remember me? What am I going to do?

Questions tackled her peace while a throbbing pain crunched at her shoulders and penetrated her temples and left eye. Breathe Lostoriel. In...And out... In...And out...In...

She withdrew into herself. Lostoriel did not know what was going to happen and she hated it. The unknown had always terrified her, it made her want to run, to leave it all behind for peace and solitude. She lost herself in the landscape, in the cascading white falls, the golden-brown leaves that blew in the wind, the kaleidoscope of flowers and birds which danced and sang with the wind. And the strangely comforting and haunting voices which just touched the air in song as they wound their way into the valley. They reached into her memory and caused her memories to dance in her mind.

"Riel…Here before?" an uncertain voice tried to penetrate her silence.

A hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks, her hand immediately reached for her sword but stopped when she saw that it was only Balin behind her. She gave him an apologetic look.

"You alright there lass? You seem distracted." concern flooded his being.

"Sorry about that, I'm just… in my head."

He smiled at her as they kept moving, "No need to apologise, a place such as this allows for such."

"What is it you wanted to ask me?" she turned her gaze forward as they descended a steep patch of ground.

Balin considered his answer as they trekked down onto a smoother path, "A few of the lads were wondering, given that you're of elf-kind, if you've travelled here before?"

It was Ori who had been wondering. His fascination with the she-elf had been growing since she had first cut him loose from the spit. He had never met an elf before in his young life, he had never made a trip outside of Ered Luin until now.

The Elleth nearly toppled over the hill into the river below. "I uhmm..." His question seemed to come at the wrong time as she bit her lip considering it. Memories had been trickling into her mind the moment they had stepped foot off the mountain and into the Valley.

"I have," A sure smile broke her usual blank expression. "Many times over my lifetime. This place became my second home." Her smile disappeared, along with the twinkle in her eyes which grew hollow with her years and full with her long life. "But I fear that I have not stepped foot into Imladris for many years."

A solemn air hung over them. Ori felt incredibly guilty for prying into her life. His poor jersey sleeves paid the price for that as he unravelled more of it as he mulled over what she had said. "I did not mean for my curiosity to upset you M'lady."

Stopping their trek Lostoriel turned to give the young Dwarf a reassuring smile. "You've done nothing to upset me in any way Ori. Also, please don't call me My Lady, Lostoriel is fine. There's nothing ladylike about me. " She laughed. Ori thought that it sounded like the first rains of spring pattering on the trees and flowers, or that her laugh was what the stars sounded like when they sparkled. Silver and light and wafting like the very earth was laughing with her.

"Alright Lostoriel." He drew out every syllable of her name with a smile, feeling it on his tongue like the ancient texts that he had studied. It dawned on him then. He had read of an elf with the same name many years ago when Balin taught them history during his studies. But he was not entirely sure if it was her, nor did he confident enough to ask her.

()()()

Their walk down into the Valley lasted until the sun gleefully drifted towards the horizon, painting the Valley deep shades of red, orange and yellow. Gandalf halted their march just before the marbled, stone pathway.

"If anyone has anymore grievances about the Elves then please bring them forward so I can knock some sense into your skull." Gandalf gave a pointed look towards Gloin, Dwalin and Thorin. He earned a few glares and fearful looks from the Dwarves and Bilbo included. Nodding in satisfaction he led them on.

They stepped onto a circular platform outside a grand staircase. Above and around them the city of Rivendell stretched and glimmered like pearls in the sunlight all along the mountain range. Waterfalls dipped and sprayed under and around walkways, the bridges led to various levels of the city, each one higher and more intricately carved than the next. Grand statues and fountains dotted the landscape, mingling with the waterfalls and pools around the Valley. Graceful, slender beings strolled the halls with no specific agenda.

"Mithrandir!" Came a smooth voice from a dark-haired elf pacing down the staircase. He had a childish look about him with ears that stuck out from beneath his hair. His shimmering blue – maroon robes danced around him when he walked towards them.

"Ah Lindir!" Gandalf raised his staff with a merry smile in greeting. The Dwarves clustered together in unease as they observed the Elves milling on about their daily routines.

"Mithrandir." The dark-haired Elf halted with a smile and put his hand to his heart in the traditional Elvish greeting, Gandalf followed suit. "We have been expecting you."

Lindir's voice trailed off into silence as gazed directly at Lostoriel when he saw a face he had not seen in many years. "Welcome back to Imladris, Princess Lostoriel Daughter of Thranduil Elvenking, and Voice of the Wood." It took every fibre of his being not to rush up to her and sweep her into an embrace. "Your presence is received with much joy." Instead he dipped into a deep sweeping bow, his left hand resting above his heart.

The Dwarves stared at them both, eyes racing from one Elf to the next trying to piece together the puzzle. Concerned whispers broke out amongst the group, Lostoriel felt just as clueless as them. Her memory may have been returning, but it was a slow process. Princess, daughter of Thranduil.

White star and moonlight illuminating the greenery, a deep voice singing a slow ancient melody. Her feet on his booted ones. Dancing across the clearing. "Little one," early morning light streaming in through her bedroom windows, "the sun is up, so must you be!"

"Someday you will lead our people…" the memories flooded her mind, her stomach turned, the ground moved beneath her feet. It all came rushing back, her father, her brother, her mother.

"Please Lindir that is not necessary."

The murmuring did not stop until, "Lads!"

A harsh whisper came from Balin followed by a muffled thud and a following "ow! Brother!" from Dwalin. She felt rather than saw the look of betrayal that had come upon the dwarves. Balin turned to her and bowed first, followed by the rest of the Company. Lostoriel's stomach turned at the sight, but more so when Thorin's steel blue eyes locked on hers as he rose with a mix of anger, deep grief and something else which she could not place.

"Lastannem i athrannedh i Vruinen." She heard Lindir in his mother tongue, he had not noticed the presence of Thorin Oakenshield as yet. She was too distracted to pay attention to him. Lostoriel wanted to become one with the very stone they stood on and remain there forever.

Whilst Lostoriel prayed for the ground to swallow her whole, Bilbo felt out the elvish words in his mind. Turning every syllable around again and again until it became a melody in his ears. The words rolled off the Elf's tongue like butter melting onto hot toast, he thought this was what liquid silver must sound like. His words were a tantalising dance in his ears. Bilbo could have listened to the rhythm of the Elf's words for hours on end.

He was pulled out from his daydreams by Lostoriel's arm brushing against his as she stepped backwards further into the cluster of dwarves. He caught the expression on her face, it seemed to be her resting face. Confused, weary and overwhelmed.

"Do you understand what he's saying?" inquired Bilbo hoping to distract her from

"I- "the She-elf shook herself out of her troubles, "I do Bilbo. He is simply saying that they had heard that we had entered the Valley." Lostoriel smiled to herself as she watched Bilbo's awestruck expression.

The pairs' distractedness was broken as a horn ran clear across the Valley, Lostoriel recognized it as the same one from the battle earlier that day. The thundering of hooves against the stone causeway grew closer and the unease from the Dwarves spilled over.

"Ifridî bekâr! Hold ranks!" came Thorin's shout to arms. Lostoriel didn't have time to think about what it meant before Bilbo and herself were pulled backwards into the middle of the tight circle of Dwarves. The Company stood back to back, their weapons poised in front of them to the Elvish warriors that circled them on their horses. The sound of clinking weapons and clopping of horse hooves was overwhelmingly loud to Lostoriel's ears. Though she thought that the Dwarves were acting irrationally for she knew that the Elves of Imladris would do them no harm.

As they circled them Lostoriel searched the faces of the warriors for Elladan or Elrohir's face. They circled the Dwarves three times and each time she missed them. Much to her disappointment and relief neither of the twins were with the group of warriors. Perhaps I had imagined it…Her heart fell into hopelessness once again, maybe her memory was playing tricks on her. Hot tears welled at her eyes, she cast her face downwards in a futile attempt to school her features.

"Gandalf!" Came a call from atop a mount as the circling ground to a halt.

"Lord Elrond." Began the wizard, bowing in front of the Elf-Lord. "My friend! Where have you been?" he conversed in the elvish tongue with the armoured Elf.

Lostoriel's head jerked up at the mention of his name. She resisted the urge to grin when she recognised the ancient elf before her. He had not changed. His eyes still glowed with wisdom and kindness and the wrinkles on his forehead as he smiled reminded her of happier times.

"We've been hunting a pack of Orcs that came up from the South for two days. We slew a number near the Hidden Pass." Lostoriel stared at him, he was still lean and still wore his dark-brown hair in the same style. Pulled back at the top of his head and in front of his ears he wore two braids which were twisted into lose knotted loops that fell to his shoulders. Most importantly he reminded her of her Adar.

The Elf-Lord dismounted and engulfed his old friend in a short embrace, "Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders. Something, or someone, has drawn them near." He held up an Orc sword, its hilt an iron fist and hanging from the cross piece was a filthy string of beads and other unsavoury items.

"Ah, that may have been us." Gandalf's rough voice did not hide his guilt well enough. His eyes betrayed what his voice sought to conceal as he turned his gaze towards the Company with a sheepish smile. That was retuned with a raised eyebrow and slightly exasperated smile from Lord Elrond, who was by now used to, but not overly fond of, the wizards antics.

Thorin took this as his cue to come forward, "Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain." Lord Elrond greeted the Dwarf in a reserved but not unkind manner. The troop of elves disbanded as their leader found no danger with their unexpected arrivals.

Thorin was taken aback by the fact that the Elf-Lord knew him, "I do not believe we have met."

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the Mountain."

"Indeed; he made no mention of you." Thorin was filled with pride at the compliment given by Lord Elrond, but the insult flew from his mouth without a second thought. He may need the Elf-Lord's help and yet, it did not mean that he had to enjoy the process.

Elrond paid his rudeness no heed. The elf simply stood, mouth pressed in a thin line, eyes watering and heart unbelieving. Whatever hostility he had felt towards the Dwarf fell away when he saw a face he had not seen in almost a century.

"Lostoriel…" at the mention of her name the elleth stepped out of the circle as Elrond came towards her. He simply could not believe that she was standing in front of her. "By Earëndil it cannot be!" he quietly exclaimed. "How…How is this possible?"

Lostoriel struggled to keep her composure, "I…am not sure. I've been asking myself the same question for a few days now to be honest."

She was interrupted by Lord Elrond engulfing her in his arms, her tears clinked ever so slightly on his silver armour. It was all too much, too much to hold in, too much to not feel and to not realise. She couldn't remember who she was, or why they had sent her back or why she had a slow recollection of her life her. And he represented familiarity and home and her life before she had left.

Lostoriel gasped as his arm touched the spot of tender flesh on her ribs. Pulling away from the hug he held her at arm's length, his eyebrows furrowing together in concern. "I suspect we will have to discuss this at another time."

Fixating his soft but withering gaze, depending on who one asked, on the Dwarves, Lord Elrond sent out a command to Lindir, in Elvish, to prepare dinner for their guests.

Lostoriel and Gandalf shared the same exasperation on their faces when the Dwarves began to grumble wearily about the Elf-Lord's words. He had no intention of offending them. But they of course felt differently when their faces grew dim and they clutched their weapons.

"What is he sayin? Does he offer us insult?" Gloin's voice rose in fear induced anger.

Lostoriel rolled her eyes, sighing with her hands on her hips, "No Master Gloin, not all the Elves want you dead. He's offering us food and shelter."

They drew together to discuss the prospect of food and provision, "Very well then, in that case, lead on!" came Gloin's reply.

They had been on the road for almost a month, their food supplies would soon begin to run short and the prospect of a warm bed and a roof over their heads set their stomachs grumbling.

"Lindir and Aerlinniel will guide you to your rooms." He gestured to his butler and the auburn haired she-elf who had quietly come to stand beside him. Lostoriel studied the elf Aerlinniel from where she stood. She stood at least half a head above Lindir, a dress of deep blue cascaded over her thin frame, its long sleeves catching the wind. Lostoriel the excited and astonished look that passed over the Elleth's face, but did not however miss the lingering gaze of Kili and Fili upon the elf.

"There you may wash up and rest a while until supper."

The Dwarves were led up the grand staircase by the two Elves. The Dwarves avoided looking at her. as they marched past them. They may have begun to trust and grow fond of her, but the revelation of her being royalty and the Elven Kings daughter no less, had broken any chance of further friendship with most of them. Bilbo squeezed her hand reassuringly with sad eyes as he followed the Dwarves and the wizard.

"Lostoriel, come let us get you seen to." Elrond led her away from the courtyard. "There is much we must discuss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot2point0 :Thank you so so so much for beta reading this chapter and allowing me to throw my ideas at you.


	6. No Time to Breathe

"Right child. The good news is that you will survive." Lord Elrond smiled grimly as he bandaged her torso, "The bad news is that it is going to hurt for a good long while."

Lostoriel grimaced as the pain flared again when he tightened the bandage.

"Sorry about that." Elrond apologised with a sheepish look. For the past half an hour the two had been in the House of Healing. Elrond had insisted that he look over her wound to which the young elf had no objections because of the pain that she was in.

Lostoriel had told him what she about her unexpected "reappearance" in Middle Earth. From when Gandalf had found her up till the fight against the orcs that morning. He tied off her bandage, his eyebrows furrowing together whilst he contemplated the new information along with what he had seen months ago.

"Thank you Lord Elrond." Lostoriel rolled her top down, looking about the room as she did so. The sun streamed in through the wide open windows and door ways that lead onto a balcony. The room itself was a creamy white, a sink and bin stood to the far side from the window, whilst the bed stood directly opposite the window and medicine cabinet.

Elrond walked back to the small table that stood by the bed, putting away the supplies he'd used. There wasn't much to clear, though Lostoriel was sure he was itching to remove his armour which creaked every so often.

"You are welcome to stay here as long as you need Lostoriel." He ended with a squeeze of her shoulder, pausing to study her young face, "It's wonderful to have you back little one. You have missed much, but I believe that you have been given time."

She merely nodded her thanks, still feeling her way with being around him. As he led her away from the House of Healing she tried to recall memories of Lord Elrond. She knew there were countless in number, but they refused to make it into her consciousness.

They walked for some time in companionable silence she could sense that he had something to ask her but waited for him to broach the subject. They passed out of the healing house and over a high narrow walkway, protected by a high tunnelling arch. Streams of water passed beneath it, running down into the Valley below. Gaps in the arch allowed for light to pour in and cast dancing shadows along the walls. Lostoriel caught glimpses of the Hidden City as they strolled along. She saw streams running under the houses and falling down the mountain sides into magnificent, ginormous pearl white fountains. The vast mountain ranges which wove their way through the Valley caught her eye as the sunlight bathed their peaks in gold.

"So you do not remember how you returned?" Lord Elrond finally broke the silence, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Not a single clue. I had been taking a morning stroll in the woods along the usual route and I went along a different path from the paved path I normally walk." She paused, her tongue sticking out her mouth as she concentrated. "I made it to the waterfall at the end of the path, but that is where it gets blurry. When I woke up I was soaking wet in a forest with a wizard claiming to know me from a lifelong passed."

The Elf-Lord laughed at the exasperated tone she spoke of Gandalf with, but was quiet for some time before he spoke again. "This is very strange indeed, but not surprising… The Valar have an unusual way of doing things." His voice held something cryptic in it but she couldn't place it.

"And you do not remember how you left?"

Lostoriel opened her mouth to answer but was cut off by hurried footsteps coming from behind them. They did not slow down as they flew passed the pair sending their hair flying in a gush of wind.

"Why the hurry!?" called Lord Elrond after the elf whose long, shimmering robes trailed behind him.

"Your son!" was all that the Elf threw back over his shoulder as he hastily turned left and called out a string of words that Lostoriel thought was most unbecoming.

Lostoriel grinned as she recognised the voice, "Was that Erestor?" the surprise in her voice caused Elrond to laugh as he nodded. "I don't think I've ever seen him run like that before!"

"Yes it was. Running seems to be his new pastime these days."

"…is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver. A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West, our kin." He paused giving Lostoriel a meaningful look that she did not see, "May it serve you well." Lord Elrond's voice knocked its way into her consciousness, she had been purposefully ignoring the awkward conversation for some time. More interested in the colourful salad on her plate after not eating after three entire days. Her stomach had been growling so loudly that she was sure Lord Elrond could hear it from his place at the head of the table.

The air around them was not thick with tension, however it was not full of lively chit-chat either. Thorin for one had sat quietly nibbling disappointedly at his salad. Only speaking when spoken to and adding nothing but his facial expressions to the conversation. He hadn't seemed to notice her presence at the table and she was content with not having to speak to him.

He handed the silver blade back to Thorin who received it with a thankful Nod, Lostoriel's eyes followed it with new found respect. She had only heard stories of the skill of the blacksmiths of the First Age and was humbled to be in the presence of their works. Ever since she had first picked up her father's blade as a young girl, she had been captivated by its lightness, by the intricacy and love with which it had been forged and by the stories that had lived with it. 

"And this is Glamdring, the Foe-hammer, sword of the King of Gondolin. These swords were made for the goblin wars of the First Age..."

Lostoriel did not miss the twinkle in Lord Elrond's eyes, nor the longing smile that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared on his face.

"May I?" the question left her mouth before her brain had time to process what had happened. Her mouth a little open in awe as Gandalf handed the long, silver sword to her. In the background she heard Lord Elrond asking how they had found them.

The blade was narrow and light, the pommel reminded her of an upside down perfume bottle. It was round at the top and curved downwards, growing narrower towards the hilt. Which was tightly bound in what looked like tanned and dyed blue leather, the cross-piece was what immediately caught her eye. It was inscribed with silver runes. She ran her fingers over them as she studied it. Lostoriel recognised the script as Quenya, she had been taught the ancient Elvish language when she was younger. It was a beautiful flowing language that she had admired and respected, but had never really bothered to become fluent in it. And now as Lostoriel struggled to translate the script she wished that she had paid more attention in her language lessons as an elfling. She re-sheathed the weapon and handed it back to Gandalf with a grateful nod.

"We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road, shortly before we were ambushed by orcs." explained Gandalf as he dabbed the side of his mouth with a white serviette. He poured himself another glass of wine, refilling Lostoriel's when he was done.

"And what were you doing on the Great East Road?" Inquired Elrond with no ounce of trepidation in his voice.

An uncertain silence swept over the table as no one answered. Now that Lostoriel thought about it, she realised that she had no clue what Thorin and his band of Dwarves were doing or where they were going. Her curious gaze moved from Thorin to Gandalf before settling somewhat hardly on Thorin.

The dwarf politely excused himself from the table leaving Gandalf to his own devices. His salad remained untouched, as did most of the dwarves' for that matter. Lostoriel stole a glance at the rowdy group as they loudly complained about the "green food" and funeral music. She had been listening in on their conversation for some time and nearly fell off her chair when she saw the eyes that Kili was giving the harpist from where he sat. Any chance that he had had with the she-elf was destroyed by his loud comment about elf- maids not having enough facial hair. And plummeted into disrepair when he pointed out that the elf who had been playing near them was "not so bad," and ended up not as a matter of fact being an elf-maid.

Lostoriel swallowed another mouthful of greens around the laugh that threatened to choke her when she heard that. Gandalf was struggling to answer, he instead took a drawn out sip of wine.

"We... You must forgive me mellon-nin, it is not my place to tell you."

Lostoriel listened intently as Lord Elrond spoke again, "Thirteen dwarves, a Halfling and an elf. Strange travelling companions Gandalf." He remarked giving Gandalf prodding look before sipping at the wine.

Lostoriel stopped him before he could say more, "I'm not entirely part of their company. Gandalf sort of just found me."

Elrond and Gandalf shared a serious look, she took note of the silent conversation they were having. "I do not believe your part in this tale is over so quickly Lostoriel." Came Gandalf's gruff voice.

"You were brought back for a reason. Though what that reason is may be yours to find out. But this conversation is not one for the dinner table. We may yet have time to discuss it." Elrond leant back in his chair his face the image of calm. But internally his heartbeat fluctuated, he clutched his golden cup of wine white knuckled. What he had foreseen and what he had remembered did not bode well with his body nor his mind.

Lostoriel did not know what to make of the way the only two people who could help her were acting. The nausea began to build in her stomach, the uncertainty filled her just as the air grew heavy. She took a deep sip of the bitter wine and almost choked on it when a soft, but powerful object hit her squarely on the forehead and vibrated with a dull cluunk on her plate. The cherry tomato innocently laid there whilst Lostoriel looked up and met Kili's mischievous eyes. The dwarf bowed with flourish, a look of victory upon his grinning face.

"These are the descendants of the House of Durin!" Gandalf changed the subject, hoping to lighten the air around them, "they're noble, decent folk." The irony of his words could not have been more apparent when cheers and the clatter of falling dishes erupted from the dwarves as Bofur clambered onto a stump in the middle of the pavilion. "Right lads!" silence settled over the small dining are, "There's only one thing for it!"

Gandalf as if sensing what was to come dropped his head int his hands, grumbling something unintelligible before giving Lord Elrond an apologetic smile.

"There's an inn! There's merry old inn beneath an old grey hill!" Bofur began to sing a merry old drinking song as he danced atop of the stump. As he sang, he moved his hands like a conductor and the rest of the dwarves joined in. Singing loudly, shouting at each other across the table and banging out a beat with the silverware. Even Thorin joined in lifting his cup in salute and tapping his foot to the beat of Bofur's voice.

Lostoriel laughed as the male elf that Kili fancied, ran and ducked behind a pillar, clutching his harp to his chest as a fruit was flung in his general direction. Pastries, vegetables and fruit flew in all directions as the dwarves hijacked the dinner to their own preferences. Lostoriel found them to be fun, rowdy group. She liked it.

A cream pie whizzed past Lord Elrond's face narrowly missing him and Lindir and landing with a squelch on a bronze statue behind them. The servant looked utterly afraid and mortified, he could not believe that this was happening.

Gandalf's expression only deepened as a morsel of food flew between him and Elrond. The old wizard nearly choked on his food, all his talk of tact and charm had clearly flown out of their heads and into the air.

Lostoriel tried to hide her smile as she looked at his expression and chanced a glance at Lord Elrond who did not look impressed at all. His lips drew themselves in a thin line and his eyebrows curved towards the top of his head as he watched the merriment happen. Truthfully, he was not as mortified as Lindir and was rather amused, Rivendell had not seen such fun in many years.

The elleth couldn't hold her laughter back until her cup was knocked over and the deep red wine spilt onto her leggings. The two other occupants both jumped at the clatter as the glass fell onto the stone. She sent a withering glare in the direction of the dwarves and saw Fili flinch under her gaze, a widening smile pulling at his lips. That was the last straw. She was not impressed.

The elf calmly picked up her cup, placing the white napkin on spilt liquid and rising from her seat made her way over to the table of dwarves. Her hands clutching two scones topped with cream behind her back, she felt horrible for wasting the delicious looking pastries. But justice had to be served.

The brothers were distracted by throwing other food across the pavilion and did not notice Lostoriel behind them until she smashed the scones on their heads with a squelch. She moved the crumbling cake in their hair to bury it deep in their hair. Laughing along with them as the pair gasped and swatted her hands away from them. "It's a shame that they had to suffer such a fate; do you not agree?"

She grinned at Bilbo's expression, his face had seemed to age with the chaos, but he did not seem surprised by it as he simply sat back and let the party happen.

"Well played Princess…Well played." Came Kili or was it Fili's reply from within the rowdy laughter that broke out amongst the group as the brother's faces grew crimson. Lostoriel could not discern who it was as the Dwarves congratulated her on her skilful revenge.

Once the laughter died down the dwarves raised their glasses together for a toast, the wine spilling down their hairy beards as they chugged down the liquid. Lostoriel quietly excused herself to search for a new pair of pants. She was happy to get as far away from the mess that had been created by the dwarves and even more so to have some peace to try and figure out what Lord Elrond and Gandalf were talking about.

()()()

By the time Lostoriel emerged from her long bath the stars were glittering in the sky and the moonlight casted pearl silver shadows across the stone city. Her room was the same one she had been using since she was an elfling. It overlooked the same grand fountain, a women bending down to fill her bowl, the bed was still in the same place. And much to her delight, the array of clothes and armour she had left behind in Rivendell were still in the oak cupboard she had left them in. Though she could tell they had been washed recently, the rich scent of flowers and soap greeted her nose as she pulled on a knee-length black top. It was embroidered with silver beaded flowers along the neckline and sleeves, she was grateful to be in clean clothes. Wearing the same clothing for two days after laying in the rain for who knows how long and running for half the morning, she was happy to wear whatever Aerinniel had laid out for her.

Tugging on the black tights she had found she began to muse on what Gandalf and Lord Elrond had told her. My part in this tale is not over… Why was I brought back? What if I don't want to be a part of whatever this is!?

She was tired of not knowing and was tired of asking around their answers for the answers that she wanted to hear. Lostoriel was so lost in her thoughts that she nearly fell over when a loud knock came from the door. She quickly slipped on the pumps she had found in the cupboard, "Come in!"

Aerinniel stepped into the room, her robes moving with her body as she strode towards Lostoriel. "Well, don't you look lovely!" she smiled gently as the elleth in front of her, a casual sort of friendship had begun to build between the two. Well that was until after Lostoriel had told the red head to stop calling her "princess" or "my lady."

"Thank you Aerinniel though I feel more tired than anything else." And she looked it too. The skin beneath her eyes was dark, her bright eyes were dull, and her usual smiling face seemed to sag under the weight of her worries.

The maidservant merely smiled sympathetically and ushered her towards an armchair near the crackling fire she had set before she had drawn Lostoriel's bath. "Tonight, you can rest, under strict orders from Lord Elrond and yours truly." She laughed softly and whipped out a brush from nowhere and began to brush out Lostoriel's wet, curling hair.

"I am most grateful for your considerate orders. I shall obey them without question." Lostoriel's answer had them in a fit of laughter. Their musical voices died down into a comfortable quiet, the cracking and sparking of the fire mingled into rushing waterfalls outside and the Elven voices that arose from around the Valley in song. For a moment the world felt at peace. Lostoriel took the opportunity to close her eyes and breathe. In…and out…

She had a feeling in her bones that she was not going to be able to experience this peace for much longer.

And she was correct, the peace was disturbed by raucous roars of laughter that arose from only one place she could think of. The dwarves. She heard Aerinniel quietly sigh behind her, "Already tired of them?"

"Almost. Apparently, the kitchens stock of sausages has been raided." Her eyebrow rose.

"Is that so? I can't imagine why!" Lostoriel laughed to herself as she imagined just what they must be doing.

"I'm not entirely sure that I want to, though I suspect it was the salad." She looked inquiringly at the blond who gave her a look of innocence. "I am supposed to be investigating because Lindir had to go sort out some pressing issue, but I've been avoiding them and I know he has been too. They are …much to handle." She ended with an exasperated snort, her pale hands resting upon her waist.

Lostoriel rose from the comfortable armchair with a huff of pain as her bruised torso ached. "You know, they're not so bad once you get to know them. Come, I'll go with you, I can almost smell the frying sausages from here." That and I need to make things right.

()()()

The mouth-watering smell of cooking pork sausages greeted their noses long before they entered the balcony the dwarves had established as a common room. A fire danced happily in the middle of the balcony, made from what Aerinniel futilely hoped was not broken pieces of furniture.

Silence fell over the cheerful dwarves as the elves walked in. Bombur stopped eating for the moment whilst they all stared at them. Lostoriel did not feel as horrible as she had when they had given her such wounded looks earlier.

"I see that you are all settled in and comfortable," began Aerinniel, "There are extra blankets in the cupboards in your rooms and access to hot water in your bathing chambers. Please do not hesitate to ask me or Lindir for anything. We are at your service." Ending with a smile she turned to leave but forgot an important piece of information. "Oh! And breakfast is at nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

She bowed to a content chorus of thank you's and made for the doorway, "Please make sure that they do not burn down the building." She whispered jokingly to Lostoriel, but fully believing every word she said and praying that she would still have a job tomorrow.

"I will. Go, rest."

After Aerinniel left Fili called Lostoriel over to sit with him and Kili. The warmth from the fire as she passed by was welcome as were the smiles, however hesitant that they gave her. Sitting on the edge of the bench Lostoriel regarded all of them, "I owe you all an apology. I suppose that in a way I was not…Completely honest with you. When Gandalf found me that night, I had no idea who I was or where I was. I hadn't realised that I was in Middle Earth until I saw you and the trolls and I just." She paused frowning and trying to find the right words.

"There is a lot that I still cannot remember, and it is going to take some time. But had I known; I would have told you."

Her voice grew quieter as she spoke, unsure if she should be apologising in the first place. To her surprise is was burly Dwalin who strode towards her, albeit cautiously and laid a large, tattooed hand upon her shoulder. "No lass. It is us, we were wrong to act as such after what you did for our people. We are indebted to you. And we ask for your forgiveness your Highness." He stepped back and bowed. Dwalin may have had a deep-set hatred for Elves, but his late mam did not raise a disrespectful son. The rest of the dwarves followed his lead, rising and sweeping into bows.

A sticky lump formed in her throat, "No please don't bow or call me your highness or anything like that. I may be royalty, but I'd prefer if we stood on common ground. After all it was all of you who allowed me to travel here with you after all and who took care of me." She gave an appreciative nod towards Oin. What had she done for their people? Lostoriel's mind went to work as she tried to recall any information on what she had done.

Resuming their seats, Bofur skewered another two sausages on a spit fork and hovered it above the licking flames of the fire. They busied themselves with cleaning out their pipes or smoking them, the scent of the pipe weed caused Lostoriel to sneeze a few times.

"Thanks to you princess I have to wash my hair out again tomorrow. I'm still pulling cream out from my roots." Whined Kili with a smile as he lit his pipe.

"Well if it wasn't for you and Fili, over here I wouldn't have a ginormous red stain on my legs. Though I must say your aim is impressive, that wine glass was a difficult target."

"Yeah, sorry about that." Sheepishly smiled Fili.

"And thank you. We learnt from the best." Kili ended with a grin and nod in the direction of Dwalin.

"It's alright, I'm sorry about your hair but it was all in good fun." She looked around the room noticing a few of them were missing.

"Where's Bilbo, Balin and Thorin?"

Bofur gave her a quick smile, holding out the fork with the sausage to her in a silent offering. "Oh, thank you Bofur."

She waited for the sausage to cool off before eating it, the wailing monster had awoken again in her stomach.

"They had a meeting with Lord Elrond and Gandalf. Something about tryin' to figure out how to read the map that Gandalf couldn't." Blurted out Kili before he had time to stop himself. Dwalin and Fili gave him a cold stare. Whether or not Lostoriel was supposed to know what they were doing was still unknown to them.

"What map?" she asked before finishing off the sausage. The warm, juicy taste satisfied her, she hadn't realised that she was little hungry.

"This one." Came Thorin's baritone voice from the doorway as he brandished the rolled yellowing parchment in his hand, "Though exactly what it is for does not concern you."

"Thorin!" called Gandalf as he pulled the dwarf out into the hallway and hopefully out of earshot from the curious ears of the dwarves and Lostoriel. The reflection from the firelight in the doorway dimmed suspiciously.

Though she heard it all.

"Have you already forgotten what Lord Elrond has seen? Or are you so stubbornly prideful that your head refuses to accept it!?You would do well to remember what Lord Elrond has told us. I don't understand what your issue is but, you no longer have any reason to behave as such. She took a great risk for your people and may well be an asset to us on our journey and so I suggest that you start acting like it. You are a King. Not a petty child!" Lostoriel went through a range of emotions as she listened to Gandalf rattle off to Thorin in one quick and harsh breath. The wizard's wrath was not something she wanted to experience.

A long silence followed, "Fine. We'll do this how you want to. But I will not be responsible for her should she willingly join us." Thorin sounded like a child conceding to their parents' wishes.

She heard Gandalf sigh wearily, "I am not asking you to be responsible for her. Lostoriel is more than capable to take care of herself. All I ask is that you remain open to the possibility of adding a fifteenth member to the company. I will speak with her first…"

Lostoriel then heard nothing but the shuffling of feet further down the hallway until she couldn't hear them anymore. Gandalf must have known she would be listening.

The flickering reflections of the orange firelight shone through the doorway as Gandalf and Thorin entered the balcony again. This time the wizard looked a bit too satisfied and Thorin even more miserable than before.

"Right, we need to talk." Fili got up to let Thorin sit in his spot, Lostoriel moved to sit on the balcony railing.

"We have spoken with Lord Elrond and he translated the text for us. It was written in moon runes which was why we would have never understood it. But Fate is with us and our quest for the same moon that it was written under shines down upon us tonight." He paused to let that sink in whilst a muffled cheer rose from the small crowd.

"What does it say?" asked Gloin, his face showing every ounce of excitement from within him.

He unfurled the map in his hands, tracing over where the silver runes had been, "Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole."

"Durin's Day grows nearer as summer is passing. Will we have time to reach the mountain before then?" asked Fili, worry thick in his voice whilst he twisted his two beard braids between his fingers.

Lostoriel began to try and piece together what they were talking about. A quest, Durin's Day, a hidden door… The fog in her mind was clearing, these were Dwarves of the House of Durin. Durin dwelt under the mountain.

"Aye we will," he nodded reassuringly at his nephew, "there is plenty of time for us to rest and to plan our next move. I'm not sure when we will get moving again, but for now get some rest, regain your strength and enjoy the peace. Once we leave here we'll be entering into the Wilderness, after that we have a dragon to kill."

The blood freezing realisation hit her then, "You're going to reclaim Erebor."

Silence fell over the Company.

"Yes princess. And I believe that you may be joining us. With or without blessing or aid from the Elves we will carry out our mission. Are you with us?" his annoyed tone mingled with the determination in his voice.

The astonishment and fear in her voice was apparent as she fiddled with her hands, trying to distract herself from the cold tendrils of fear that flickered in the back of her mind.

"I… I do not... Excuse me." The elf strode out of the room, blindly walking through the halls. The name Erebor had stirred up a darkness that gnawed at her mind. Images of great pillars of fire and roars louder than thunder echoed in her mind. She needed space to process this. Her mind fuzzed over, a static sound built up in her ears until all she could hear was the pounding of her heart against her ribcage. She unconsciously rubbed her left arm, flexing her fingers as a sharp pain faded in and out of numbness. She was beyond terrified.

This was what Lord Elrond and Gandalf had been acting so cryptic about. They wanted her to join their quest, she had no idea how she even got back to Middle Earth and had only been there for two days and they wanted her to go frolicking off on some suicidal mission! The dwarves were either mad or stupidly brave to think that they would succeed. That place was best left alone, no matter how much wealth laid beneath the earth. It was stupid and beyond dangerous.

Lostoriel did not want to join them, all forms of bravery fell from her being. She remembered how Thror had been driven mad by the gold beneath the mountain, she remembered the fell beings that had tried more than once to make their way into the dwarvish ranks and she remembered the beast that had settled upon the treasure.

The elleth suddenly found herself wishing that she could not remember anything. Wishing that she had never come back. ()()() 

"Why do you think the orcs were so close to our borders?" asked Elladan stopping outside their little brother's room. Estel had been waiting with Glorfindel for hours for he and Elrohir to return from the hunt and had decided that he would spend the rest of the evening with them since he hadn't seen them for almost three days.

"I'm not sure. Though I suspect the party of dwarves who entered the Valley today have something to do with it." he held the door to Estel's room open for Elladan to pass through.

"Did Ada say what they were doing here? It is strange that they are so far from the Blue Mountains. I wonder what has drawn them out to the edge of the Wild. " the older twin asked as he carefully tucked Estel under the covers, he brushed the unruly waves of shoulder length brown hair from the child's face. The twins shared an amused smile as small puffs of air and bubbles emerged from the small form on the bed.

"He didn't, but I'm sure we'll figure it out soon enough." Elrohir turned and winked at him as he drew the light summer curtains. They were impeccably skilled at finding out what they weren't supposed to know.

The routine had become familiar to them on the nights their father spent pouring over his books in his study. Tonight they had found him behind a stack of tall dusty manuscripts, written in at least three different languages. He had barely sneaked them a second glance before he plunged back into the musty books. They had learnt long ago not to disturb him when he was in one of his investigative moods.

Satisfied with their work for the evening the pair exited the room, quietly closing the door behind them.

"You know, he really does look like an angel when he's not wreaking havoc."

Elladan did not get to reply when someone slammed into his brother from behind. Elrohir lurched forward with a yelp of surprise, dropping the story book he had taken from Estel's room and stumbling over his feet whilst Elladan grabbed his flailing arms steadying him.

"I'm so sorry!" Looking up after he had Elrohir standing upright again, he wished that the stone walls would swallow him whole.

The feminine voice belonged to the short, Elven body walking to picking up the book. "I didn't mean to knock you over. I wasn't watching where I was going. I'm sorry again."

It was her.

She held the book out to Elrohir and the two froze. Two statues of the past. He could feel what Elrohir felt. Every ounce of joy, heartbreak, confusion and love that he felt in the moment, Elladan felt within his bones, making his stomach churn.

"Los- Lostoriel!" he whispered, his grey eyes studying every inch of her, searching her face as if he would find his answers written there. He carefully stepped towards her, his hand reaching out to caress her flushed cheek.

But Lostoriel took a step back. She couldn't handle this on top of everything else. Lostoriel took in deep breaths as she stared at him, but it didn't help. She didn't know what to do, her arms dropped listlessly to her side as he stood in front of her.

He had not aged, everything about him was familiar to her. His tall, lean build, his dark-chocolate brown hair. Her words were stuck in her throat, unwilling to articulate themselves as her Elrohir stood before her. Every bit as real as he was before she was not.

"Elrohir…" was all she managed to say. This was what toppled her calm façade. The anxiety had been building up in her for days now, the uncertainty, the memory loss and the sudden revelations of the past day alone had her feeling like she was a bomb waiting to explode. Her breathing quickened and her head spun.

Without another word Lostoriel spun on her heels and hastily walked away keeping up the pace until she made it to her room at the end of the corridor and was behind the safety of her door. She wiped the burning, hot tears tumbled down her cheeks but they wouldn't stop. Locking the door behind her she stumbled over into the armchair by the fire. There Lostoriel curled into herself, her legs folding underneath her as she buried her face in her arms.

It was all too much to absorb at once. She was far away from her family, she was taken from a new life and into her old one, she had walked away from the one she loved, and she had no singular idea of who she was or what she was doing. She found herself longing for her Ada and Legolas or Thalion and the comfort of their arms. They had always guided her, they had always been there and she had left them. She had left Elrohir, she had left an entire life behind. And now she may have given up the chance to be with him again.

The darkness and haunting memory that penetrated her mind when she thought of Erebor made her everything freeze in fear. Though she had no intention of stepping foot in that mountain again , the fear of what lay in its depths toyed with her mind.

Lostoriel sat there for hours, letting the tears drip down her face and into the thick fabric of the chair until she had no more to cry. Her body ached just as painfully as her mind did. Whatever determination she had had before to find her answers had flowed away with the tears. It wasn't long after staring blankly into the fire that she finally closed her eyes and let the warm blackness of sleep take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Bofur sings is from TFOTR, but they used it in the extended edition of AUJ and it fits in really well.  
> Lancelot2point0 you have my thanks once again!


	7. When You're Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin here are some translations: Muindor/ Muindor-nin : Brother/ My brother
> 
> Boro nin : Trust me
> 
> Tithen pen : Little one
> 
> For Lancelot, because you enjoy all the angst and read like all the drafts...

Elladan stood in the adjoining doorway to their rooms, his eyes gazing worriedly at his brother, who had just barged into his bedroom. The door swinging shut behind him as he stalked towards the strewn pile of clothes on his untidy bed. Elladan chewed at his lip, Elrohir had not said a word to him, he had not even spared him a second glance after Lostoriel slipped away into her chambers and he had stood there staring at his brother for answers.

And answers were what he got, but not the ones he wanted to hear as Elrohir had seen straight through Elladan's guilty look. He knew his brother like the back of his hand, and he knew when he was hiding something from him.

Elrohir had tried to say something to Elladan, to try and comprehend he had just been through, but was too overcome with emotions he couldn't describe and had instead stalked off in the opposite direction. That single expression of betrayal, grief and shock was one Elladan would never forget. Elrohir had just stood, rooted to the spot. Silver tears trailing down his face, his nose flaring in anger and his grey eyes an array of fury and the long years of loss which sprung to the surface.

And to make it worse Elladan had felt every bit of emotion that Elrohir did.

Now, Elrohir hastily undid the silver buttons of his tunic, flinging the black garment across the room where it landed with a heavy thud on the high-backed chair by his desk, causing the chair to tip backwards. Elladan swallowed the growing lump in his throat preparing himself for the storm that was Elrohir. He had always been quick to anger but even quicker to forgiveness. He was not one to hold grudges for long. His heart was much too soft for that. But angering Elrohir was something Elladan had always actively tried to avoid. His brother's anger was quiet, simmering like hot water that eventually boiled over.

"Just don't." he hissed, kicking his boots off and socks off to pull on his old, baggy pyjama pants he refused to get rid of. Elladan swore he hadn't replaced them and had resewn several patches onto the fading black material at least fifty times in the last two centuries.

"Ro…" Elladan moved from the doorway to stand near the hearth against the wall, his arms pressed snugly against his chest.

Elrohir was not swayed by the pain of the softness in his brother's voice.

The storm spilled over.

"No Dan. I don't want to hear how you were trying to protect me. I don't want to hear how you were going to tell me but didn't get a chance to! I- How long did you think you could keep this from me!? I mean, did you think that I wouldn't find out!?"

"Please R…" Elrohir cut him off, appearing inches away from his face.

"How long did you know anyway?" his chest rising and falling, tears freefalling down his angular face.

A guilty look passed over Elladan's face, "Since the end of the skirmish with the orcs."

Elrohir stepped back, processing the information, thinking of the evening they had spent with Estel, Glorfindel and Erestor. Thinking of all the time his brother had had to tell him. He chewed at his thumb nail, the other hand resting firmly on his hip.

"But I saw her only for a short while, I saved her from an orc's blade."

"You saved her! You literally had the entire afternoon to tell me! By the Valar muindor that's not something you forget to mention!"

"Ro you're not listening to me…"

"I'm not listening to you!?" Elrohir exasperatedly threw his hands into the air glaring at his brother.

"No you aren't!" Began Elladan taking a firm step forward and placing both hands on Elrohir's shoulders, "Ro." He said firmly as his brother struggled to move out of his iron grasp.

"Elrohir. She recognized the name 'Tori', she just didn't know it was me. I didn't know if it truly was her until she did. I wasn't even sure if our encounter was real! I was still processing it. I didn't know how to tell you brother. I don't have enough words to tell you how sorry I am that I had not told you earlier."

"Seas!" he spat, "here was time enough when we were disposing of the carcasses! I don't want your apologies!" shouted Elrohir, "Don't you understand!?"

Elladan recoiled at the anger in his brother's voice, he leaned on the small couch in front of the fireplace. "Then what do you want?"

His dull eyes searching the form of fury in front of him, realising that Elrohir just needed to work through what he was feeling. This was how he had been, whenever he was overwhelmed, it always turned to anger.

"This is not just anyone. This is Lostoriel!" his usually soft voice cracked, "If ever there was someone I loved with my whole being down to the last fibre of myself, it was her. I knew for years that she was the one I was going to marry. I promised myself to her. And then she was gone. Like the warmth of sunlight on a winter's day." He sunk onto the edge of his unmade bed, his fair face looking every bit as ancient as he was. The lines creasing his forehead reflecting the long, difficult days of his life.

"And now she's here. She was right there in front of me. I don't…I don't understand." Elrohir dropped his face into his hands, leaning on his knees. His face squeezed in on itself as he shook with his grief, sobs shaking his body.

"Muindur-nin." Elladan carefully came to sit next to him, pulling him into his arms. His brother's tears soaking his pyjama top. He rested his chin on Elrohir's raven hair. "I did not tell you because of what happened when she left. You…" he sighed deeply reliving the bone aching pain he had felt. "You almost completely faded. I didn't know how you would take this. I wasn't sure how to tell you because you. Almost. Died .Elrohir. Boro-nin Ro, if I knew the right way to do this I would have."

Elladan's voice softened as he cupped his brother's face in his hands, grey meeting grey, both looking into a mirror. "You lost your love. I too lost one I loved. This isn't an easy thing for me to understand either."

For a moment the fire died in Elrohir's eyes, comprehension dawning on his face. "No it is not! You know not!" the ashes flared to life.

Elladan snatched his hands away, rising with a look of indignation and hurt. He marched back to his bedroom not wanting to deal with Elrohir's self-centeredness. He couldn't believe that he was capable of being so one-tracked, so absorbed within himself. Placing his hand on the silver doorknob he paused unable to bite back his tongue. "When you're done behaving like the earth revolves around you," he growled, "I'll be here. You are not the only one who lost her."

The door slammed firmly between them.

Elrohir sat on the bed stunned for a moment, swearing when he realised what he had done and rushing towards the wooden door. He gently pressed his forehead on it, hot tears still running rivers down his face. "Dan…Please." He whispered, watching guiltily as the shadows that were on the other side of the door, where his feet were, disappear.

()()()

"You think you can defeat me?" his rough voice cut through the roaring of the flames. "I am invincible. I am your doom elfling!" Lostoriel ducked beneath a pillar, jutting her shield to the right in a futile attempt to shield herself from the stream of flames which he breathed out.

She grimaced as the heat of the flames touched her skin, flying around the pillar and stealing the oxygen from the air. Her throat and nose burned, it felt as if someone had melted her lungs. Lostoriel's heart thundered in her chest, her hands and legs trembled like wind on the leaves.

She clawed for breath, her chest rising and falling in quick movements. Her clothing was tattered and burnt, her body was seared and blistered, her muscles feeling as if they hung by the tendon. Blood stained her face, and oozed from her torso as she moved. Most of her hair was singed and had fallen off, it now brushed in ragged, rubbery layers against her shoulders.

"Come little princess. Let's see what good daddy taught you under the trees." Smaug taunted her," Oh yes very intriguing indeed." his voice rose as a thought came to him. The dragon laughed as he rose to his full height, towering above the ruins of the once spectacular dwarf fortress, his claws wrapping around entire staircases. The monstrous, orange flames that licked the walls made him look menacing against the pure sunlight that, streamed through the high windows.

"Perhaps I should pay your little forest a visit. I'm sure they will welcome me." An evil smile pulled at his scaly skin revealing a set of teeth the length of spears and swords and the size of small trees.

Lostoriel's eyes widened, her thoughts screaming in her mind. No she couldn't let him do this. She should have known that he wouldn't, but she was not going to trust the word of a creature of darkness.

Her breaths came quicker before she sucked in what little air she could and screamed as she attempted to stand, the pain intensifying with every move. She leant against the pillar for support, gripping the shield and sword in her hands with renewed strength. I'm going to die. I'm going to die for the ones I love. For the good of the Dwarves. But I'm going to fight for my death.

"Valar give me the courage." she prayed.

Lostoriel closed her eyes, thinking of her kingdom, of her people who would surely die should she fail to kill him. She thought of the elflings in the villages, the creatures of the forest which protected them, she thought of her family, of the twins and of her closest friends who she would most probably never see again.

They were the only ones on her mind when she moved out of coolness of the pillar and into the great shadow that Smaug casted upon the burning floor.

"You will not touch them you witless slug!" she cried brandishing her sword, the strong wind of breath from the dragon was so warm it caused her to sweat as she stood before him. Her tattered cloak flying behind her as she glowed just as brightly as the flames about her. The pure light of the Eldar filling the Dwarven homeland in the face of a merciless shadow. All around her she could hear the sounds of hurrying footsteps, shouts of fear as families and the soldiers rushed to evacuate their home, fading into the background.

Lostoriel looked the beast in his amber eyes with such a deadly expression of determination and danger that Smaug took a step back. The elven princess raised her sword and charged head on. Her shield held in front of her as the dragon bent down and rained a storm of flames upon her. The heat of his fire heated the metal of the shield until it glowed bright orange in her hand. Lostoriel cried out, her fair voice turning into a haunting scream of pain. Intense pain and heat hit her body and the darkness took her.

The elf's eyes cleared as she bolted upright into the dim light her room. Lostoriel wheezed as she struggled to breathe. Her body burning with the numbing pain she felt that day. Her head filled with fluttering birds, her mind feeling as if it were stuck between the past and present. Her left arm felt once again as if she had dipped it in flame. The pain was still unbearable even after all this time. She calmed herself down, willing her skin to cover the flesh deep burns on her body.

Lostoriel held her arm up to study it. The dim light of her casting shadows upon it, giving the burns a haunting look once more. She could feel her skin across her left side pull back to reveal the charred skin below. She remembered waking up on a hospital bed, machines whirring and beeping around her. She remembered the painful drips they had stuck into her veins and the numbing burning sensation that refused to leave her body for years after that.

They had said that she shouldn't have had been able to survive her burns. That her skin shouldn't have been able to grow back so smoothly. They called it a miracle, she called it the power of the Eldar.

The pain had never truly gone away, it flared ferociously whenever she dared to think of that day. Of the floating darkness which had taken her until she laid, deathly pale on that wet grass gasping for air in the twilight.

Lostoriel wiped the tears which had escaped her puffy eyes and threw off the blanket she didn't remember using the night before. Smaug had entered her dreams once again, clawing himself up into her consciousness like a lion stalking its prey. At first she had dismissed the dream as a figment of her imagination. Until it crept into her mind a second and third time and she realised that it was no dream. That is was memory. Apprehension and fear swirled in her stomach as she refused to acknowledge the growing realisation at the back of her mind.

She pushed back the thought staring instead at the bright, yellow light shining through the thick pale-yellow curtains, reminding her of light bouncing off water as they billowed in the wind. She willed her skin to cover the memory and her body to wake up. Her mouth was bitterly dry, the numbness from the light before making itself apparent when she poured a glass of water from the silver pitcher on the small table in front of the fire.

Lostoriel cringed as she remembered what had happened. She had been overwhelmed; she knew that seeing Elrohir had been the tipping point for her. She hadn't imagined that seeing him again would be like that. Lostoriel sighed, biting the skin around her fingers feeling guilty as she realised that she had completely ignored Elladan. And hadn't thanked him for saving her life. She did not however feel terrible about leaving the dwarves, but hated that she had, for a moment been so vulnerable in front of them. She would have to talk to them at some point she knew, but wasn't overly eager to do so today.

A timid knock at the bedroom door drew her away from her musings.

"Come in!" she called, sitting up to neaten her messy, knotted hair which stuck out in all directions and was plastered to the side of her face.

Bilbo Baggins pushed the door open with his elbow, holding it ajar with his shoulder as he carefully balanced a tray full of food and a precariously full pot of tea with his hands.

"Good afternoon!" he smiled cheerfully, "I brought you afternoon tea" he softly kicked the door closed with practised eased.

Lostoriel's nose was assailed with the wonderful smells of bacon and melting cheese and best of all tea. Her stomach growled in hunger as she laughed at Bilbo's greeting.

"Afternoon? You're joking right?" she asked, rising from the chair with a groan, a look of disbelief on her face. Her laughter died down when she saw the amused, but serious expression on Bilbo's face.

"I hate to admit it, but it's almost three o'clock!"

The elf flushed crimson, it hadn't felt like she had been asleep for so long. But then again she had been without sleep for almost three days. Bilbo coughed awkwardly, eyes going from the tray to his arms.

"Oh sorry Bilbo where are my manners!? Here, Ah!" she gasped as the bright light of the afternoon blinded her eyes when she drew back the curtains. Rapidly blinking the flares out her eyes she pushed open the balcony doors, gesturing for Bilbo leave the tray on the small metal table. Before excusing herself, realising that she had the desperate need to relieve herself and see if she could find something to brush her teeth with.

Reappearing several minutes later with a neatly tied pony tail and an apologetic smile Lostoriel sat herself in the white chair opposite Bilbo. The metal scraping harshly on the stone balcony as she pushed it towards the table. "You didn't have to bring me this Bilbo. But I am grateful that you did."

He had lain the food out on the table next to the steaming cup of tea he had poured for her.

"You are most welcome." He smiled warmly gesturing for her to eat, "I…I wanted to. You missed breakfast this morning and lunch and I was beginning to worry. So did Fili and Kili and Ori and-" he cut himself off from his rambling, inhaling deeply. "Last night you didn't look alright when you left, but Aerinniel said you were okay, fast asleep as a matter of fact. Anyway I just thought you would be hungry, so I brought you this with the help of Aerinniel and Lindir of course. It's not afternoon tea as such, but it'll do. I've found that bacon makes any situation better."

Lostoriel huffed a laugh around a mouthful of scrambled eggs and said crispy bacon, at the sheepish smile on his face. She was grateful that she had a friend in him and Aerinniel. So that's who put the blanket on me, she realised making a note to find the elf-maid later and thank her.

"Thank you for caring Bilbo, I'm alright now, you don't have to worry about me." Lostoriel gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before pouring milk into her tea. "Last night was overwhelming, I felt like I was going mad…" she trailed off staring at Bilbo's horrified expression as the Hobbit stared at her milky cup of tea.

"What's the matter mellon-nin?"

Bilbo gave his answer some thought not wanting to come off rude or judgemental. "You…uhmm seem to have a bit too much tea in your milk." He nervously smiled at her serious expression.

She was silent for a moment, trying to see if he was being serious or not and couldn't contain her laughter which spilled out of her like the gurgling river below. "Do I now?"

"Yes. Yes you do." He joined in on the merriment, happy to see her smile.

"I'll have you know that I've always taken my tea this way, overly milky and with two teaspoons of sugar."

He gasped in mock-horror, clutching his shirt over his heart, "That should not be allowed."

The Baggins within him was ready to run away from the sight without second thought, he had prided himself on the perfectly balanced brew he made.

"You sound exactly like Lindir and Galion. They once told me that it should be illegal for me to make tea ever again."

"Well I understand why!" The Hobbit and Elf spent a long moment in laughter as Bilbo demonstrated how to make what he called the "perfectly balanced cup." Once they had settled into their afternoon tea they began to chat aimlessly, with Bilbo telling her about the Shire and his quiet life in the hilled country.

Lostoriel listened with interest as he told her about BagEnd, of his family and of the market square down by the river and the mill. And of the annual garden contest which he refused to participate in after he lost to his rather beast-like cousin Lobelia Sack-Ville Baggins, who had won by unleashing a small population of pests upon his pruned garden. Which had devoured the beautiful arrangement of flowers and plants he and old Gaffer had spent months tending to.

The she-elf was intrigued and admittedly jealous of their homely lifestyle, of the grand, yet small lives they led in their hidden land of peace and prosperity. It reminded her of the farming villages on Earth that she had visited and sometimes stayed in because it reminded her so much of home.

They spoke until the sun began its journey towards the horizon, Bilbo had just finished telling her about his first day- long walk in Rivendell and his amazement and awe towards the Elves and their home when they moved onto the topic of Dwarves. And more specifically of Bilbo's mortifying first encounter with them.

"They did what?" Lostoriel bent over laughing as he told her about how they tumbled into a heap of cloaks and beards when he opened his door and proceeded to pillage his pantry.

"You heard correctly! Then they sang a song about blunting my knives and splashing wine on all my doors! It was terrifying! The lot of them just barged in, falling over one another and to top it off Fili walked across the dining table splashing ale over a perfectly good sliced ham!" Bilbo laughed at the memory and at how horrified he had been over the state they had left the bathroom and kitchen in and of how he was left with a single jar of porridge and several barrels of wine that they hadn't managed to find.

He sipped on his tea with a reluctant smile on his face. That chaotic evening was beginning to feel as if it were worlds away. He had truthfully joined this Quest out of spite after the Dwarves had humiliated him for his "unburglar-like appearance." But the Took in him had been reawakened by the haunting song they'd sung of their homeland and by the string of exciting events that followed him running out his door. Most of all by coming to Rivendell and meeting the Elves, by discovering that the stories Gandalf and his mother had told him as a lad were true. It had always been a dream of his as a young child to travel to new lands, he had spent countless days and nights in the Old Forest with his cousins on his mother's side searching for talking trees, trolls and Elves. He wondered if that curly-haired, wild child would believe that he would one day be on a real adventure.

"That must have been horrible to witness Bilbo! But all the better for it I suppose, or we would have never become friends." Lostoriel uncurled her legs from her side and moved back to the table to grab the last slice of cheese.

Bilbo blushed, he had not expected her to say that. An Elf becoming his friend! The notion would have seemed absurd to him a month ago. He couldn't help but agree with her and yet something within him felt reluctant to do so.

"I suppose so Lostoriel." He smiled contentedly at the Elf leaning against the metal banister. Bilbo was still mesmerized by her, he had believed that Elves were cold, untouchable beings, but she and others like Lord Elrond were beginning to make him see that they were merely people beneath all the legend and ancient appearances.

He came to stand with her, placing his leathery feet between the silver, curving bars. Even with the extra height he only stood just above her waistline, Bilbo felt as if he were standing next to a giant. Lostoriel gazed out at the view before them, her face falling when she noticed the raven-haired elf in the garden below, slumped onto the stone bench below. A small child with dark wavy-hair laid in his arms, nestled comfortably against his chest. She couldn't place the expression that wrinkled Elrohir's face, his eyes blank and full of hurt. She felt the same longing in her bones as he did in his.

Bilbo noticed how her expression changed in seconds and watched as she pushed what she felt away. He suddenly felt reluctant to ask the question that tugged on his mind. Lostoriel seemed to sense this and gently asking, "What's on your mind Master Baggins?"

"I just…I was wondering if you're really not going to come with us?" Bilbo tentatively looked up at her piercing blue eyes which seemed to soften and harden all at once.

Lostoriel turned away from him, inhaling deeply, "I'm not sure whether I want to join the Company yet Bilbo. There is much I must still find out and do before I can make a decision." Her voice trailing off into silence, he felt guilty thinking that he had upset her.

"I'm sorry if I've upset you, I didn't mean to Lostoriel." He backed away to the entrance to her room, hands fidgeting about in his pockets. "I uhmm think I'll go now it's getting late."

He was halfway to the door when Lostoriel appeared behind him, her footsteps barely making a sound on the marbled floor. "Bilbo you did not such thing. There's a lot on my plate right now, but I promise that when I do decide, you'll be the first to know."

"Oh…Thank you." he felt silly for thinking that he'd offended her, "Well I hope that it all turns out alright." He pulled the door open, smiling warmly at the Elf. They had become quick friends in the past few days and he was becoming extremely fond of her and her easy-going nature.

"What's the Elvish word for friend?" he paused at the threshold turning concern hazel eyes towards her.

Lostoriel's eyebrow quirked upwards, he continued to surprise her with his well-intended questions. "Mellon." She answered, the word dancing off her tongue and into Bilbo's ears. The Elven language is pure, merry music thought Bilbo.

"Mel-lon." He tasted the word on his lips, "Whatever you decide I hope…That we remain mellons?" he added the "s" unsure of what the plural would be.

Lostoriel couldn't withhold her smile at his unintended but well-meant mispronunciation, the Elven princess ignored his outstretched hand and bent down engulfing the Hobbit in a hug. His eyes were wide saucers as he awkwardly brought his hands around her shoulders.

"Of course, Bilbo, we shall remain mellyn." She gave him a conspiratorial wink as he turned to leave. Bilbo smiled, waving his goodbye over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

()()()

Lostoriel wandered restlessly beneath the trees under the clear navy-blue night, gazing up at the glittering sky, watching how the stars smiled down at her. Though tonight she thought that they were smiling more maliciously than in the serenity.

She had bathed, changed and politely declined Lord Elrond's invitation to dinner and had tugged on her boots unable to relax even after her wonderful afternoon spent with Bilbo. Every time she closed her eyes, she either saw Smaug, or Elrohir or heard Bilbo's question and Thorin and Gandalf's previous conversations which popped into her head and refused to leave. Lostoriel began to wonder about what Lord Elrond had seen and whether it was what she suspected he had seen. She thought about whether anyone in the village she had lived in on Earth had discovered she was gone.

She wondered if that even mattered anymore as she passed over a high stone bridge to the other side of the Valley where the open fields lay. The flowers and grass swayed towards her as she walked by them, the tips of her fingers brushing against them making them seem more vibrant and alive than they were before. The voices of the trees tickled her ears, their hushed song dancing on the cool wind that passed through the Valley, bringing rainclouds into the distant sky.

"Elrohir, what am I going to do about you?" she whispered to herself. Lostoriel knew she would have to find him at some point and speak to him. She just had no plan or vague idea that stretched beyond the word "hello."

She descended a narrow staircase that led to an ancient stone bench that was hidden beneath the tall shrubbery and away from the eyes of the city. It had become one of her favourite places to hide away in Imladris. A great willow tree shaded it and a small, gurgling stream ran in front of it. Tonight, the moonlight bounced off the stream, making the water look like liquid silver widening as it moved snaked through the Valley.

Lostoriel sat there rolling a sharp stone beneath her foot, muttering how she thought the conversation would go. "Oh, so I'm alive now apparently," she whispered rolling her eyes, "And I have an incredibly bad memory too! Though that didn't stop me from freaking out in front of you and an entire Company of Dwarves!" she kicked the rock into the river, sighing heavily in frustration.

"Can't sleep?" she jumped at the deep voice which accompanied the tall, slender frame of a bronze robed Elf. She recognized him and immediately rose to greet him in the traditional Elven way. She placed her right hand over her heart and bowed her head. Lord Elrond mirrored her actions, "Good evening Lord Elrond."

"Lostoriel." He greeted, "You know I should be the one bowing."

"And yet you never do." She smirked at the old jibe he used on herself or Legolas. They had at first been against the notion of him humbly showing them such respect as Lord Elrond was one of the oldest, wisest, kindest and most respectable Elves they knew. To them, he had always and would always stand on the same platform as their Ada, a second father. He never needed to bow.

"Care to join me?" Lostoriel gestured to the bench, "And to answer your question, no, but I've had my days fill. Can't you?"

Elrond gratefully took the spot at the opposite edge of the bench to where she sat. "It appears not."

He stretched out his legs, crossing them at his booted ankles and resting with his hands folded neatly on his lap. The starlight reflecting dully against his unadorned dark hair, he would have been the very image of calm had it not been for the deep lines that creased his forehead.

The pair of Elves sighed softly, staring at the stream, both content with the silence. Lostoriel had been itching for the past day to ask him what he had foreseen, but now that he was next to her, her courage seemed to run away with the stream.

She stole a quick glance at Lord Elrond beside her, he appeared not to notice the apprehension drawn into her furrowed eyebrows, but he knew her too well not to. He sensed a question on her mind but waited until she was ready to ask before he did anything. The elfling turned back to the stream, her fingers fumbling around each other. She turned her head once more to face him, but second guessed her choice.

"Lostoriel if you have something to ask you don't have to be afraid to do so." He told her gently, not a hint of annoyance in his caring voice, fully turning himself towards her so she would have all his attention.

The Elleth hesitated at first, berating herself for being so fearful of Lord Elrond for no good reason, "What did you see?" she cringed at the unimpressed expression on his face, his brows drawn together, and lips pressing together in a thin line. "Forgive me, I meant to ask you what you foresaw about me? I overheard Gandalf and Thorin talking last night and I need to know. I need to know whether I should be going on this quest or not and I know that you have the answers."

"Are you sure that you want your decision to rest in my vision?"

"Yes." Came her swift answer. Lostoriel looked and sounded so much like her father that Elrond did a double take of the girl. Her hard-set blue eyes staring back at him determinedly, her chin proudly sticking out.

His serene face grew dark, "Days before you arrived, I saw you on the overlook above the ruins of the City of Dale. I then saw you running from the dragon, at first I suspected this was a look into the past when you fought him the first time, but it was not."

Lostoriel absorbed this information but did not say anything sensing that he wasn't done yet. "I looked into your future and saw life, where there once was only death and decay."

"How can you be sure?" The Elleth turned to look at him, uncertainty glistening in her eyes.

"They did not send you into the Halls for a reason, your life upon this earth isn't done. The Valar spared you from waiting, you have been given a second chance to finish that which you have begun. Though this fate of which I speak of rests in the decision you make. Choose incorrectly Lostoriel Thranduiliel and all may fall into shadow." Lostoriel released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"That is a lot." She sighed, folding her arms across her chest, gazing up at the sky. "What do you think I should do?"

Elrond gave her a sympathetic smile, he hadn't wanted to lay so much upon her already weary shoulders. He hadn't intended to tell her what he saw. Fearing that she would not choose correctly, fearing more what evil they would unleash upon the world should she fail.

He shuffled towards her, putting an arm across her shoulders, "I think that you should not let my worries stop you, I fear what may come should Thorin Oakenshield fail, I fear what darkness could grow in the East. You have the power to help them, but you need not make your decision now songbird. There is time to think over it."

Lord Elrond squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, "Now, on that cheerful note I shall leave you, all shall be fine in the end tithen pen. Try to get some rest Lostoriel."

Lostoriel smiled squeezing his hand back as he rose and took one last glance at the young elf before him. Yes, he thought to himself, she will be alright.

He had just reached the bridge when, "Lord Elrond!" came Lostoriel's voice from where she stood beneath the oak tree, "Thank you." And with that the Elven princess disappeared into the night.

()()()

WACK!

The practice sword, which Lostoriel had found in a barrel next to the tall wooden practice poles, hit the side of the worn pole in front of her. It stood just above her torso, the top half of it tightly bound in worn leather that had been hacked and slashed at by thousands of Elven warriors before her. She had found her way here after her heavily loaded conversation with Lord Elrond, needing to sift through her thoughts and mull over what he had told her.

WACK! WACK!

The metal clashed with leather as the moves came back to her. My fate rests upon this Quest, but what if I choose not to go? And if I do not what then? What if the same darkness that rests upon the GreenWood ensnares the dragon?

WACK! No, I must finish what I started. If I can help, then I will. I have a duty to. This is bigger than what I want isn't it? But to face Smaug again, I literally died the last time I tried to kill him. What if Lord Elrond is wrong?

WACK! She practiced her backhand stroke, her sword flying over and around her head and slashing across the leather, decapitating her invisible attacker.

WACK! WACK! Her hair flew around her as she spun and parried their stroke.

Well his foresight has never led anyone astray. He saw life, what if I miss that? What if I return home and I live out my days wasting away my life?

WACK! WACK! WACK!

That beast has rested for long enough, he has haunted me for years now. It's time for this to end.

Losotoriel let out a small shout of anger, her sword falling to her side, panting heavily she bent over trying to catch her breath after she sent pieces of leather and wood flying from the pole. Her breath came slower realising she was being watched, they stood silhouetted against the moonlight. Golden blond hair spilling out from under their hood, sword glinting silver from the grey cloak that fluttered in the cool breeze.

She turned her attention back to her quarry, twirling her sword in her hand, bouncing lightly on her toes before slashing away at the pole. Her strokes becoming heavier and more powerful as she hacked away at it.

WACK! WACK! WACK! CLANG!

Steel collided with steel as the watcher's blade clashed heavily with hers, sending a slight jolt of pain down here right arm. Lostoriel pushed her blade toward him, twisting his sword down and his wrist outward at an awkward angle, attempting to dislodge the blade from his hand. The blonde elf expected the move and used all his strength to push her arm back upwards and spun in the opposite direction sending her blade flying to the ground with a teeth-grinding whine.

He held his blade just before her throat, pushing his hood back with his freehand. "Well matched resurrected one." He sheathed his sword with an impressed smile, the starlight bouncing cheerfully off his fair face,

Lostoriel stood stunned for a moment, hands slack at her side before recognizing the elf with his high cheek bones and oval shaped face. She leapt towards him, wrapping her hands around his chest, "Glorfindel!" she screeched delightedly, sounding exactly like an Estel.

"Lostoriel! It's about time you pitched up!" he grinned in excitement, throwing his strong arms around her short form. "I was beginning to think everyone was going crazy when I heard of your return and especially after not finding you. I was looking forward to seeing you today, but I heard you only woke up well passed noon."

She smiled sheepishly up at him, Lostoriel was eye level with the bronze mallorn leaf brooch that held his cloak in place. "Yes, well I suppose everyone knows about that. Anyway, never mind that, I have missed you!"

"I've missed you too little one." Glorfindel studied her smiling face, he recognized the haunted look in her eyes that she tried to hide, and he saw the shadow hanging over her head. But he also saw the elfling who he had come to love like a daughter, who was still incredibly short like her mother, but who unconsciously held herself like her father.

"So, what troubles you so greatly in the dead of night that you've torn this poor stump to smithereens?" he asked as he made to collect her sword from where it had fallen.

"Everything and nothing at all." Came her sighing reply.

"I understand. This," he gestured to the air around them, "is the worst part of returning after so long. Everything you remember from before you were killed is a confusing mess." Lostoriel smirked at his use of honest words, appreciating that he didn't try and soften them.

"How's your memory?" he asked handing her sword back to her and fishing for something beneath his cloak.

"It's starting to become clearer; I've started to remember how it happened."

"Judging by your tone I take that it hasn't been entirely cheerful." He handed her dagger to her. "I believe this is yours."

Lostoriel's ears grew red in the dim light, "It hasn't. I've been having nightmares about it for weeks now." She cleared her throat, "How did you find this?"

"I found it lodged into the wood behind one of the archery targets, in the middle of an arrow." His eyebrow quirked up as laughed noticing her red colouring. Lostoriel had left it there after hopelessly trying to pull it free. She had spent the better part of an hour firing arrow after arrow at the target board, with only five of the twelve hitting bullseye. Somewhere around her third missed shot she had thrown the dagger at the board and it had spilt the arrow clean down its shaft.

She hummed thoughtfully as she took the borrowed blade from his hand, nodding her thanks, "I was going to go back for it." Truthfully, she was going to coax Aerinniel to help her retrieve it before dawn to avoid any embarrassment from the other warriors seeing it.

"Right…" he sounded totally unconvinced by her answer.

"Those nightmares are the worst part, it's more like you're reliving the memory of it." Glorfindel unsheathed his sword, standing in a position of challenge. His blade hung loosely at his side, his feet shoulder length apart, he crouched ever so slightly and his blonde hair flickered in the wind. He stood in the grey twilight looking every bit like the legendary warrior of old.

"Do they ever go away?" Asked Lostoriel as they circled each other, her sword and dagger gripped to her sides, looking like talons in starlight.

"I'm afraid not." Glorfindel lunged at her, his sword sweeping towards her left, Lostoriel parried his blade with her sword. Not leaving her right side unprotected as she stepped into the movement bringing her dagger to slash at his freehand that reached for her wrist. "But it does get better, you learn to control them."

The Balrog slayer kicked out with his left leg, bring his sword in an overhand swing. Lostoriel jumped to the side avoiding his foot, parring his sword that aimed for her head with both her blades crossing them across each other as his sword pushed downward.

"Ah, good to know that they never leave. I feel privileged to know that Smaug's voice will be forever in my memory." Lostoriel took advantage of his vulnerability and proximity to knee him in the stomach. Hardly hard enough to injure Glorfindel, which she had regrettably done in the past.

Glorfindel nodded approvingly at her move as he bounced back and she hurried towards him, blade aiming for his chest, he deflected it with ease twisting the tip of her blade in an easy curve. "Speaking of which," the ellon quickly brought his blade up slashing it just above her stomach, causing Lostoriel step forward using her dagger to push his blade down and out. "Are you journeying with the Dwarves?"

Lostoriel stopped her underhand stroke, eyebrows furrowing in question.

"Mithrandir told me." Her eyebrow quirked upward, "Okay fine, I also heard it from the younger elves. But apparently you are to be joining them? Word travels quickly to me from the young elflings, it helps to be seen as being terrifying." Glorfindel smiled somewhat proudly at the notion, the younger elves had always been a little afraid of him, which he sometimes, or "frequently," as Erestor put it, used their fear to his advantage. He wasn't overly proud of it, but most of the time he meant it in fun and jest.

Lostoriel rolled her eyes at him, he had done the same thing with all of them growing up, until they realised the game he was playing and twisted it their favour. "Still terrorising the youngsters?" the she-elf took his distraction and used it thrusting her sword outwards towards his throat and stepping into the fluid movement with her dagger aiming for his chest. The move would have easily decapitated an orc and if not, at least ended his life with a dagger to the heart. "I might go with them…"

It was Glorfindel's turn to raise an eyebrow, as he flicked his sword with one small, but powerful movement, between her blades knocking her dagger out her hand and nearly chopping off her sword hand. Which led to a cascade of hacking and slashing between the two platinum haired elves, their movements becoming a whirlwind of parrying back and forth. Two shadows dancing in the darkness, the sound of steel clashing on steel so quickly that it was difficult to tell who had thrown which move. They carried on like this, whirring and twirling, their blades flashing like lightening in the moonlight as their deadly dance sent sharp clangs and hisses echoing through the Valley.

The pair stopped only when the pale early morning light began to seep into the dark canvas of the night. The stars slowly disappearing beneath the candy-floss pink sunlight. Glorfindel caught a flash of dark hair and navy-blue robes out the corner of his eye as he spun kicking out at Lostoriel who caught his grass covered boot with her hand and pushed him backwards. Sending him stumbling onto his back and into the morning dew. She stalked over to him her blades whirring in her hands she was about to strike when a slightly annoyed, smooth voice cut through the air.

"Good grief! Do not tell me you two have been at this all night!?" came Erestor's cry of exasperation, Glorfindel rolled his eyes sharing an amused smile with Lostoriel as they heard him mutter something about "utter nuisance and bumbling warriors -"

He had felt as if he were experiencing an overly vivid moment of deja-vu as he watched the two elves spar like they would when Lostoriel was still in warrior training. At one point or another each of Thranduil's and Elrond's children had come to learn and train under Glorfindel's skilful eyes. It was almost a rite of passage amongst the small cluster of close friends, though for their parent's and Erestor it was more of a headache, or a welcomed one at least. Knowing that their children had learnt how to protect and defend themselves and others from perhaps the most feared warrior on Middle Earth. He expected that once Estel was old enough that Glorfindel and the twins would take him under their wings.

"Good morning to you too Erestor!" called Glorfindel as he sprawled himself onto the grass, panting tiredly from their long hours of sparring.

She held a hand out to help him up, "Well matched Balrog-slayer. I bet that you wish I still wasn't here to send you sprawling." She smirked.

Glorfindel clutched her hand, letting her hurl him to his feet, "Do I now? I remember my life being rather peaceful before you came along." He gave her a quick smile, letting her know he was joking. "Well dragon-slayer, do not get too excited your skill returns to you, but there is must we have to work on."

Lostoriel gave him a curious look, his knowing eyes telling her that he already knew of her decision, her voice came softly, but full of steely determination. "My answer is yes. I'll be journeying with them, I started something and I fully intend to finish it."

Glorfindel nodded approvingly at her, he may not have had a fondness of Dwarves, or even a mere desire that they reclaimed Erebor, but he understood her plight. He had a deep, nauseating feeling within himself, that if they did not slay the dragon then the darkness which had begun to brew would only grow stronger. The two sheathed their weapons and began to slowly make their way towards Erestor who stood with his hands on his hips in the brightening morning light.

"Well then, we'd better get to work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hii there! I'm not even a little sorry for what I've done.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this one! I had a blast writing it, especially the Glorfindel and Bilbo scene!


	8. Towards Everything You Hoped For

Elrohir strode along the winding path that led to his and Elladan's and now Estel's favourite hiding spot. The hidden gardens behind their home, tucked away beneath the canopy of great oak and birch trees and out of sight from any unwanted onlookers. He was restless, unable to sit still and wallow any longer after his conversation with his father just before dawn. He needed to find Elladan and apologise. Elrohir chewed at the skin around his fingers, berating himself for how he had treated his brother, who had only tried to help him.

Now the sky stretched pink and orange into the grey darkness of the morning, the birds beginning their sweet melodies whilst Elrohir mused over his conversation with his father. Elrond had found his son in the same place he had left him after breakfast; reclined on the grass, his head resting against the stone bench looking balefully at the glittering night sky.

"Iôn-nin, what have the stars done to you to make you glare at them as such this night?" Elrond seemed to be the listener of heavy hearts this night, he mused as he plonked himself on the bench next to his son's head.

"My own guilt Ada." Elrohir rested his head on his father's leg, relaxing as his father's hand stroked his hair comfortingly as he had when he was a child.

An unconvinced huff escaped Elrond's lips, "I found your brother in the gardens looking at them in the same manner, though I think his face may be stuck in a permanent scowl from how hard he's been staring at them." He gave Elrohir that look he used to get information out of them as children. His hazel eyes soft and caring, "Care to tell me what's making you both want to glare the stars out of the sky?"

Elladan had of course given him his side of the tale, but Elrond knew that Elrohir needed the opportunity to speak freely.

Elrohir sighed, looking at the upside down face of his father, "Ada…Why did he not tell me?"

Elrond gestured for him to come sit with him, both sat shoulder to shoulder, dark hair blending into the night, their faces and lean build almost entirely identical to onlookers save for the braids that were woven into Elrohir's hair.

"Elrohir, your brother did not tell you not because he wanted to hurt you, quite the opposite in fact. He wanted to protect you."

"From what?"

"From yourself Elrohir. Do not be angry with him, Elladan was worried about you, we almost lost you too. You should go speak to him, he is hurt by both your actions." Elrond's voice softened, resting his head upon his sons which laid upon his shoulder. "I too owe you an apology for not telling either of you sooner."

"You have nothing to apologise for Ada. I will go talk to him, I promise. I did not mean to be so harsh towards him or to act so selfishly. It was all too much to bare. Seeing Lostoriel and knowing that he knew. That he saved her life and never said a word to me. And that she was right there within arm's length of me. Ada…" Elrohir's face scrunched up, the tips of his ears reddening, his voice thickening with emotion before he broke down in his Adar's loving arms. Feeling everything all at once.

Elrohir rolled his shoulder's back standing taller, he knew what he had to do. He hated that he had been so blind towards what his brother was feeling, he deserved what he got from Elladan. His Ada was right, all his muindor had done was try to protect him as they both did for each other, to prevent him from losing himself again. He would do the same for his brothers and his sister, he loved them too much to let them hurt.

Rounding a corner he was abruptly taken from his thoughts by a loud thud and a shout of "Oi!"

Before him, sitting untidily on his bottom was a mousy haired dwarf, next to him was a bearded blond who, due to their likeness in stature and look, Elrohir assumed could be his brother. The Elf immediately bent and stretched his hand out to the dwarf. He gave him an apologetic smile, bowing slightly, "Master Dwarf, please forgive me. I was walking blindly and did not see you there."

Elrohir was careful not to offend them. A dwarf's temper was never a beast to awaken. The blonde dwarf moved to pick a few stray leaves from his brother's hair, revealing a shorter red-haired dwarf behind him. Elrohir thought he looked homely, with his too-big knitted jersey and red-leather bound book with parchment sticking out at all directions clutched protectively against his chest.

The young dwarf stood dusting off his black trousers, "It's alright, no harm-" he stopped, looking at the elf with eyes as big as saucers looking wildly at his brother. Elrohir couldn't help but grin. He knew that look. "You…" Kili pointed at Elrohir accusingly, "Didn't we just see you? We did just see him right Fili."

Said Fili had the same look of astonishment upon his face, "We did yes, just over there by the gardens. How did you?"

The young red-head's mouth moved to speak, but no words came out. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Elrohir basked in his amusement for a while longer, letting the three dwarves sputter about in confusion "I believe that you have seen my twin brother, Elladan, Master Dwarves. I am Elrohir son of Elrond." He bowed lowly, his hair pin-straight hair falling about him like water.

The three dwarves bowed as one, Fili stepped forward to introduce them as Ori- the wide-eyed one, himself and Kili the one without a beard. The trio looked entirely baffled and annoyed with themselves for not realising it sooner.

After exchanging pleasantries they made to move off to their destination, which Elrohir prayed was not to another fountain to bathe in. He had seen enough dwarf bare bottoms earlier that day to scar him for the rest of his immortal life.

He stopped in his tracks realising with a baleful look that they had found their spot. "How did you find it?"

"Find what?" asked Fili as they halted beneath the trees.

"The gardens. They are hidden from anyone who does not know the paths of Rivendell."

A sheepish expression covered each of their faces, "Oh we may have done some exploring through the uhmm... Kitchens." Kili gave him a nervous smile, unashamedly holding up a small sack of fruit.

Elrohir felt a new found respect for the trio, he gave them a proud smile and nod before moving off to find his brother. It took a special skill to make it through the doorway of Sidhon's kitchen unseen and un-shouted at. Though that was probably a curtesy everyone else had, except the twins.

()()()

"I hear you glared so hard at the stars that you may end up wrinkled." Elrohir laid himself next to his brother on the wet grass.

Elladan lay with his arms crossed on his chest, unwilling to look at his brother, their hair fanning out around them like halos of night. Two pairs of grey eyes stared at the morning sky, two heavy sighs escaped their lips.

"I'm sorry Dan." Started Elrohir, "I'm sorry Ro." Ended Elladan at the same time, sharing a warm smile with the other.

"I acted like a selfish pig last night. I shouldn't have pushed you away Dan. You did what you knew was right and I couldn't see that, I couldn't see that you were hurting too." He sat up, "Forgive me saes."

Elladan rolled his eyes, "You did act like a selfish ass. But I am sorry for what I said, it was out of anger and I did not mean it."

"You do not have to be. I needed it." Elrohir shuffled closer to his brother who was now upright, his hair and tunic full of grass and leaves. He took his brothers face in his pressing their foreheads together.

"Forgiven?"

"Forgiven." Elladan placed his hands on his brother's cheeks with a reassuring smile, as they had always done.

"Now," began the older twin, moving away from his brother and getting up, sending a shower of grass onto Elrohir as he dusted himself off, "what are you going to do about Lostoriel?"

Elrohir gave a cry of frustration, throwing himself back onto the ground, "I don't know. I have nothing beyond, "hello", "so you're alive" and, "marry me?"

Elladan rubbed both his hands over his face, exaggeratedly rubbing his temples and the bridge of his nose. "Uhm, brother I mean this in the kindest way; but you are using none of those except maybe "hello."

()()()

It was nearing midday when Lostoriel turned from the target board at the sound of cheering from behind her. She had hit her twentieth bullseye in a row after Glorfindel had hurried her through breakfast, much to Erestor's chagrin. He had then made her run the entire perimeter of Imladris with him twice and spent at least two hours doing physical fitness, or "torture" as she had dubbed it after her second round of the whistle runs. Where he had her running back and forth between designated markings across a wide field at each blow of the whistle along with the other training troops.

The Balrog slayer insisted that their night of sparring was not sufficient sword practice and had her sparring with him before moving onto the archery ranges all before nine o'clock, according to Erestor and Aerinniel who had tried and failed to rescue her from Glorfindel's wrath.

She was exhausted! Her legs threatened to buckle beneath her, her feet ached like she had been walking across gravel barefoot and her back and arm muscles seemed to jiggle and pull like jelly every time she pulled back the bow string. But she was determined to do this.

"Again!" barked Glorfindel, the very image of a relentless teacher. His face hardened into determined lines, usually kind eyes holding nothing but sternness and no small degree of anger. Though Lostoriel knew that was just because he was training her as a soldier, not as a princess. She expected no less of him.

Lostoriel eyed the target board again, pulling another arrow from the barrel next to her, nocking and aiming in one swift movement. Back straight from the stance, one leg forward the other holding her weight.

She remembered the blond face from the flash of memory of her father she had seen in the forest, breathe in and release!

The arrow sped off towards the target, its bright yellow fletching spinning wildly until it hit bullseye with a satisfying thunk!

"Again! Target five! Stance three! Loosen your shoulders, your arms aren't relaxed enough and widen your feet!" Glorfindel cried from behind her.

Lostoriel adjusted her stance, feeling his critical eyes boring into her skull. She rolled back her shoulders, taking a step back and standing at her full height. The fifth target was the size of a dinner plate, it shone white in the sun and was an easy shot for an experienced archer. She adjusted the degree of her aim, relying on centuries of intuition that she tried to hone in on.

She inhaled pulling the string to her cheek and exhaled only once the arrow was soaring through the air. Hope swelled in her chest and died when her arrow dipped and fell a metre short of her target. She gripped her bow tightly, swearing with words and phrases Glorfindel hadn't heard before, frustrated tears threatened to escape her eyes. Lostoriel knew she could do this, not long after she had recovered from her burns she had acquired an archery set and had spent countless hours keeping up her training. Only after she had made her own after wanting to burn that modern bow, as far as she was concerned that piece of metal was good for nothing except sport.

She knew that she had been taught how to make the shot from the tree tops but she remembered nothing from Lord Merenon's or Legolas's training.

He came and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Don't get frustrated Lostoriel. You know how to do this-"

"But-"

"No. Listen to me." Glorfindel gently, "Just breathe. You are one of the most skilled warriors in Middle Earth. You have trained and fought your entire life. You know what you're doing. Give yourself time."

"Take your Stance."

Lostoriel nocked, aimed and drew in one fluid movement, "Take half a step back, move your bow a little higher. Yes like that. Now fire!"

Lostoriel didn't dare move her arms from the drawing position until she heard the thwack of the arrow hitting the target dead centre.

"I bet I could best you princess!" called Kili from the picket fence that surrounded the ranges, he leaned on it with a cocky smile on his face. Fili rolled his eyes to the heavens questioning why his younger brother did such stupid things.

Ori on the other hand was less interested in the archery and more interested with drawing the landscape in front of him, he captured every detail of the training fields, the elves and everything beyond it with awe and unrivalled skill in his thick book. So far his favourite drawing was the sketch he did of Lostoriel holding her bow up to shoot when her scary looking instructor had her practicing her stances. She had looked regal, her golden hair flying around her, face set in determination and a fire burning in her eyes. To Ori, she looked every bit as ancient as she probably was.

Lostoriel shared an inquiring look at Glorfindel, who for all the protests he should have had wanted to see the dwarf's skill.

Lostoriel looked to Glorfindel who nodded, mostly because he honestly wanted to see just how skilled the heartless dwarf was and partially because he had done most of the training with Lostoriel that day and was exhausted.

"Very well Master Kili, It seems you have a match." Lostoriel tried to smile, though she was sure it came across as an awkward grimace. The dwarves and her had avoided each other and yet these three kept popping back up. Lostoriel couldn't quite look Kili or Fili or Ori for that matter in the eye. Not after the embarrassment of that night.

Kili came round into the field through the large gate, cheeks turning crimson as he realised that he would need a bow. And not an Elven bow because they were nearly as tall as he was. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as the humiliating realisation hit him.

Luckily Glorfindel had a one of the younger Elves fetch a training bow from the armoury.

"So what brings you three down here?"

Kili turned red for a moment wondering if she knew about their kitchen raid. "Oh we were just taking a walk, Ori wanted to sketch parts of the city. Said something about keeping a documentation of our time here."

"Oh." She didn't know what to say, nor how to say it. The embarrassment from that night flaring up again.

They didn't get any further in their conversation when the young brown haired warrior reappeared with a child size recurve bow. Glorfindel handed it to the dwarf, his hesitation hidden beneath a mask of calm. If the dwarf tried anything he could end him in an instant. The Balrog slayer shook that thought from his head. No, he should have trust in this dwarf, he had no intentions to hurt anyone. Glorfindel felt guilt creeping up his throat.

Instead of being silent he said, "Good luck master..."

"Kili, son of Dís."

"Good luck young Master Kili. I am Glorfindel." He gave the dwarf a warm smile, which he unexpectedly returned. For a moment dwarf and elf stood together, hands clutching forearms as they forgot their ancient rivalry which had trickled into the present. "Your friend here is rather good at what she does, but I think you could best her."

Lostoriel gasped, a look of feigning hurt on her face, "How little faith you have in me Lord Glorfindel."

"I did not say anything about my faith in you, just about your ability to hit that target." Glorfindel patted her shoulder giving her an amused smile in response to her shocked gasp. "You've got this."

Kili on the other hand was testing out the bow, it was just as light as his. He drew back the string with ease. The grip was firm, the weight of the draw pulled at his muscles in a familiar manner, it must've been the same as his own bow.

"Match rules?" He asked, eyes lit up in excitement.

"Best four out of five? No fancy tricks. And we'll avoid target six." Suggested Lostoriel with a raised eyebrow, a smirk on her lips as she pointed with her bow to the last target. Which was hidden behind several tangled branches and leaves, barely visible to the untrained eye.

Earning a nod from both him and Glorfindel. Lostoriel pointed to the trees on the far side of the field, "You see those discs within the trees? That is our last shot."

She saw Kili gulp nervously, he could do this. It like hunting deer from a distance. With only the creatures head popping up. The dwarf nodded to himself smiling confidently at the cheer his brother shouted to him from his spot behind the fence.

"Right then enough chitchat. On my count." Glorfindel placed himself behind them looking far more excited for this than he should have been.

"Well princess, may the best dwarf win." Kili turned to her grasping her forearm in good sportsmanship. She hated that he called her princess, it irked her.

Lostoriel rolled her eyes at the irony in his voice, "Are you going to insist on calling me that?" not waiting for his response she jokingly taunted him, "Prepare to have your Dwarvish hide kicked."

The elf cringed at her words, hoping that she would in fact win this.

The two archers were beginning to draw some attention to the other elves on the archery field. Never before had a dwarf even dared set foot near their training fields and yet today here was one holding a child's training bow having an archery competition with the Woodland princess. Their WoodElven kin had always been strange, but she perhaps was the strangest of them all.

Many of the older warriors recalled the days when she and her older brother would sprint through the trees, flinging themselves from branch to branch like animals, followed hot on their heels by the twins or Arwen. They had all been much younger then and less weighed down by the darkness which they fought and the constant shadow of death which they were often faced with.

Glorfindel gave the call to begin, "Archers take your positions! Draw! Fire!"

Lostoriel notched her arrow to the bowstring, shakily drawing the string back trying to ignore the eyes who watched them. It had been years since she had shot in front of other people, her days of practicing on Earth spent tucked away deep in the woods. Her shot flew true and hit the board dead in the centre.

Her nervousness did not escape Glorfindel's eyes as he watched Kili, impressed at the skill of the dwarf. He notched, drew and shot with the skill of an elf and his quarry hit the board in the centre of the target. The small crowd of Elves cheered loudly, Dwarf or not a small break from the bone-breaking routine of Glorfindel and the Weapons Master's was welcomed.

Lostoriel's mind didn't shut off as it normally did when she shot, as she drew fire for the second shot she couldn't help but wonder why Fili, Kili and Ori wanted to befriend her after her embarrassment.

"Won't your uncle be angry with you for talking to me?" asked Lostoriel as Glorfindel called for them to draw fire.

"We don't always have to do what Thorin tells us too you know."

Thwack!

Both arrows hit their targets, Kili's however landing in the outer rings as he misjudged his shot being taken aback by Lostoriel's question. A cheer once again rose from the Elves.

He shook off his mistake, smiling mischievously "What Thorin thinks of our doing doesn't bother us much. He has no reason to judge us for doing so. Our uncle thinks that we don't know what he keeps from us. "

Before she could ask Kili about what he said Glorfindel's call to draw rang vaguely in her mind. Lostoriel stood dumbly, holding her arrow loosely against her bow trying to understand what Kili had said.

"Lostoriel? Do you concede?"

Keeps from them? What dealings with an Elf does Thorin deem so secretive that he would keep it from them?

Lostoriel shook her head, drawing back her bow and firing upon his command. They had once been friends, or friends as much as they were allowed to before his grandfather succumbed to the dragon's sickness. She vaguely remembered her visits to the Mountain after that being few and far between once her father and his had forbade the friendship from happening.

Their arrows curved high into the clear sky, getting lost in the sunlight before the fourth boards which marked the three hundred metre line shook as the arrows pierced the centre ring with a satisfying clunk.

Kili smirked, extremely pleased with his performance in front of all these Elves. He was the best archer back in the Blue Mountains, but here he felt as if he were a boy again only just beginning to learn how to shoot. He held his head high, pride swelling up within him as he thought of how proud his mother would have been.

The tension began to build between the two archers, a ring of elves had gathered around them eager to watch the stand-off. Lostoriel hadn't made the mark as Kili her arrow piercing the ring above it. The Dwarf smirked thinking he had a chance of winning, Lostoriel rolled her eyes as she watched him rather cockily spin an arrow through his fingers.

She knew that she would have to let the Dwarves know that she intended to be part of their quest, but she first knew that it would be wise to be in their good books first. Telling them however could come later, she didn't quite feel like speaking to Thorin just yet.

Now was the moment of truth, the fifth target loomed in the distance, silence swept over the circle of onlookers, Lostoriel stole a tentative glance at them. She recognized a few of the elves standing there, some she had befriended through the twins and others she had met on diplomatic meetings between their two realms.

"The score now rests on a close three to four! Archers to your positions!" Glorfindel was having more fun than Erestor would ever allow him to with the Dwarf. Quite frankly he was enjoying Lostoriel being challenged and by one no less than a Dwarf! Lostoriel caught him giving an elf she couldn't see a quick wink and excited smile, his yellow hair shining brightly in the sunlight.

Kili unknowingly stepped backwards, his keen eyes spotting the plate-shaped disc nailed to a tree on the opposite end of the field. He inhaled deeply, seeing the brown arrow fly through the air in a perfect arc and landing on bullseye in his mind's eye. Dwalin had taught him that trick when he was younger, saying that the key to shooting successfully is to see the shot in one's mind and then to believe that one can do it.

Lostoriel to his left glanced at him out the corner of her eye as she prepared to draw. Her brain unconsciously calculating the angle and telling her hands where to go. She relied on her intuition for this shot, recalling Glorfindel's words from earlier. She knew what she was doing.

"Draw!" came his call once again.

The Elf and Dwarf stepped into their stances, Lostoriel pulling the string towards her ear the light fletching tickling her cheek. She inhaled, feeling the warm summer air filling her lungs and clearing her mind. Kili stared intensely at the disc, his eyes nearly boring a hole into its centre. The Dwarf's fingers just touched his ears, his back muscles pushing together as he held his stance.

"Leithio!" Glorfindel was so lost in the moment that he forgot to give the order to fire in the common tongue. Lostoriel almost laughed at the old Elf's expression, the joyful youth that still managed to shine through him continued to amaze her.

Both archers released their shots, the arrows whizzing high overhead, yellow fletching spinning wildly in the wind and landed vibrating in the centre of both targets. Kili and Lostoriel cheered, her shout ringing loud and clear amongst those from the crowd as she raised her bow in victory.

She turned to Kili, "We'll give you credit for trying." Her eyes smiling with her broad grin. "Well matched Kili."

The two grasped the others forearms, respect and congratulations ringing quietly through the shake.

"Oh hilarious Princess. I may have let you win. But there's always a next time." Kili winked, his wide smile hiding nothing but joy and a little confusion. "Well-matched, I did not think that they would be so excited to see a dwarf shoot."

"They're young, warriors in training, they can't resist a competition. You both were a welcomed distraction." Glorfindel held them both at arm's length congratulating them as the crowd of Elves quickly dispersed upon seeing their other Captains and Lord Amdirlain's stern call to take their lunch break.

He threatened them with an afternoon of butterfly drills if they weren't back before the sun reached its zenith. Lostoriel knew from experience that those drills weren't anywhere near "butterfly-like" as the name suggested. The Captains of the Woodland realm used them on a daily basis when training their troops and had more than once made Lostoriel feel as if she would die.

Lostoriel was about to speak when Lindir appeared out of nowhere quietly speaking to a crestfallen Glorfindel and conveyed a message from Thorin to Fili and Kili who were to meet him in Lord Elrond's halls immediately.

"Take the rest of the day off. I unfortunately have a Council meeting that I'm late for." He sighed disappointedly, "Erestor is going to kill me. I'll meet you at the usual spot for our morning run. You did well today." He gave her a squeeze on the shoulder and turned away with sagging shoulders towards the path leading into the City.

The three dwarves bade farewell to her, she couldn't help but notice how ink-stained Ori's fingers were, and a small smudged line crossed his cheek. Lostoriel made a mental note to ask him later if she could see what he had been working on.

()()()

The Elleth stepped between the wood and string of the bow, hooking the bottom curve around her ankle and the other in front of her shoulder so she could release the string to let the wood breathe. It was now that she finally allowed herself to groan in pain as her muscles threatened to collapse. The aching in her feet returning with vengeance and the muscles around her torso and back clenched together as she moved. Glorfindel had worked her to the bone, she sighed in resignation, and today was just the first day she knew the pain would be worse tomorrow.

Lostoriel placed the bow in the barrel and in twisted the cap off her water skin when a flash of brown hair raced passed her screaming "Glorfindel! Glorfindel wait!"

A small child, no older than ten perhaps was bolting across the grounds and bounced straight up into the arms of the warrior who caught him with a smile and spun him in the air for a few moments. Lostoriel watched them for a few moments, her expression somewhere between a frown and a smile. She had noticed that that was no Elven child that Glorfindel had in his arms.

"Challenging Dwarves now are we?" came a voice from behind her.

Lostoriel froze recognizing his unmistakeable smooth voice, she closed her eyes, breathing in deeply to gather herself. Her heart pounded in her chest, her head filled with cotton wool as she turned to face him with a smile that reached her ears.

"Only the good ones." Lostoriel's stomach flipped as the sensation of hundreds of fluttering butterflies filled it, the elf in front of her looked every bit as young as he had when she had seen him last. Dark chocolate brown hair flying in the breeze, grey eyes gazing at her softly in the sunlight and his angular face beaming with joy and relief.

She took a tentative step forward, playing with her hands not quite sure what to do after last night's teary, messy encounter with him. Elrohir seemed to sense this and gave her a reassuring smile taking a small step forward too. His heart called out to hers and he could not wait to feel her in his arms again.

They simply stood there studying each other, she gazed at him unblinkingly watching as his eyes filled with tears. They didn't waste another minute, Elrohir engulfed her in his arms, hers stretching across his shoulders face buried in the crook of his neck. He cried freely, his cheek resting upon her head a laugh escaping both their lips as he spun her in the air before setting her back on the ground. Foreheads touching and hands moving from her face to shoulders and then holding her hands and bringing them to his lips. Both their minds being unwilling to comprehend they stood here breathing the same air as each other after so long.

He looked deeply into her eyes, losing himself in the sea of blue, "I…You were…And now!" for once and not the last time the silver tongue of Elrohir Elrondion failed him. His words coming breathlessly and jumbled as he couldn't express the whirlwind of emotions flowing through him.

"Elrohir, breathe melleth-nin. I know…" Lostoriel laughed, joy spreading to every inch of her body. She gently placed her scarred hands on his flushed cheeks, the world around them fell away into silence, and it was just him and her. And the rapid beating of Elrohir's racing heart which he was sure she could hear.

Her pink lips met his, no sign of hesitation or confusion as he kissed her back, one hand cupping her face the other snaking around Lostoriel's waist to draw her closer to him. They had waited and longed for this for an entire century, thirty-six thousand five hundred days of not having her by his side, if he had calculated correctly. He poured every moment of grief, longing and happiness into this one kiss and Lostoriel grinned, tears streaking her cheeks unable to contain her emotions let herself finally feel that she was home.

The two broke apart, somewhat reluctantly, neither caring about the stares and nudges in their direction that the warriors gave each other. They had each other again. She wiped the tears from his face, "I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to… We were supposed to get out, but there were still Dwarves inside and we just… We couldn't leave them and I have spent every day since then thinking of you and my Ada and Legolas and I'm sorry about last night."

"Only you would apologise for dying." A huff of laughter escaped him, "You have nothing, nothing to apologise for Lostoriel." He shook his head profusely, "You did what you knew was right even if it meant giving your life. No one could have asked you to do any more. But taking on a dragon by yourself! Lostoriel that was reckless and borderline suicidal." Elrohir suddenly realised what he was doing and stopped himself, his anger washing away, she knew that already. She had known that the moment she had stepped in front of that beast and did what they all would've done.

"Forgive me."

"For what?" Lostoriel searched his face, his eyes looking dark and haunted by years of suffering.

"For being furious with you all these years. For not letting you rest."

"Elrohir… Stop, I do not blame you, if you had gone rushing off to kill a dragon by yourself I too would've said and done the same. Only louder and with more "unladylike" words." The elleth laughed telling him it was alright, that she took no offence to what he had said. Her musical laughter made his heart flutter, it had felt like millennia since he heard it, since he had laughed even harder at her when she snorted like she had just done.

He couldn't help but nod in agreement lightly laughing at the thought, she would have killed him before the dragon could. "I wouldn't put it passed you. "How…How did you come back?" he asked interlacing his fingers with hers, "How is this possible?"

"I'm not sure…I don't remember how or why…" she shrugged, "My mind has been hazy, but I will find out."

"RO!" the child bounded back towards them breaking the moment, his small face beaming with excitement, "You'll never believe it! Glorfindel promised to take me riding with him later!"

The child shouted as he closed the distance between him and his brother, leaping into Elrohir's arms who caught him easily.

"Did he now?" the elf raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips.

The child nodded eagerly, "Only if I promise-" he stopped short his eyes widening in surprise at the stranger next to his older brother. He immediately tried to hide himself in Elrohir's shoulder, Estel moved so quickly that Elrohir almost dropped him. The shyness he felt towards the archer making his toes curl. He had seen her shoot and had been amazed by how easily she managed to shoot as if the bow was a part of her.

"Estel what's going on?"

The child lifted his chin ever so slightly, hazel brown eyes darting to the blond elf who had been holding Elrohir.

The older elf's mouth curved in an O shape as realisation dawned upon his face, he turned himself to face Lostoriel sideways, bringing Estel closer to her.

"Estel, this is Lostoriel of the WoodLand Realm. She is an old childhood friend of ours." He winked at the shorter elf, "Lostoriel this is our little brother Estel."

Lostoriel studied him curiously, wondering why on Earth Lord Elrond had adopted a human child. She studied his face closely, his slightly angular features reminding her of someone she had met, but she couldn't remember who. Pushing that thought away she gave him her kindest smile lowering her head, "It is a pleasure to meet you Estel. You must be the one who Lord Erestor was chasing after the other day." She grinned.

He blushed crimson, mouth widening in surprise, "You saw me!? I was running away from his boring lessons."

"Estel!" Elrohir quietly reprimanded him.

Lostoriel laughed liking the child already, "No I didn't, but I did hear him throw some interesting words your way. And don't worry when I was your age I hated lessons too. My brother and I would run off into the Woods instead and hide until our instructor gave up searching for us." The elleth nodded towards Elrohir, "As for your brothers, don't think that they're so innocent either. You should ask Erestor about what trouble they'd get themselves into."

Estel liked the look of her, she was a warrior like her brothers he could see, except that she was dressed in greens and browns like the strange Elves from the books he had read in the library. He especially liked that she hated lessons too and gave him valuable information that he could use later on his older brothers.

Wow, he thought to himself, his young mind drinking her in like she was a figment of his imagination. The stories of the WoodElves were legendary, they were invincible in his eyes and as his Ada had explained it, had such a strong love for nature that it was a wonder that they weren't forest creatures themselves.

"Please don't give him anymore ideas, we have enough trouble getting him to sit still as it is." Came Elladan's exasperated voice, an easy smile on his face.

He had stood off to the side watching the scene unfold before him grinning. He had laughed at how idiotic his brother looked for a moment, just standing there gaping at her like a fish out of water.

"Elladan!" exclaimed Lostoriel turning to greet him.

"Next time you decide to go off fighting dragons do wait for us!" The pair embraced each other for a long moment, both overjoyed at seeing an old friend after so long. "It's good to have you back Toriel."

She noticed the tears glistening in his eyes but didn't say anything, Elladan was never one to openly express himself. Instead she smiled and tried to convey the same relief and sisterly love back to him.

"I'll let you know in advance! Thank you for saving my life the other day, that orc looked much too happy to kill me." She grasped his forearm a hand still on his shoulder.

He nodded solemnly which she returned in suit, but his bright eyes betrayed his happiness, "Always. Travelling in the company of Dwarves now I see?"

"It's a long story." She sighed stepping back and studying the trio of brothers in front of her. If it weren't for Estel's round cheeks and ears she could've sworn that all three of them were biologically related.

Elrohir came to her side, snaking an arm around her waist, "Luckily we have all afternoon for you to tell us of your recent adventures."

Estel wriggled free from his brother and hopped lightly to the ground and coming to stand in front of Lostoriel. He grabbed her hands, his eyes wide as saucers, bouncing on his toes. "You went on an adventure? Where did you go? What was it like?"

"Estel one question at a time." Elladan told his brother gently, laughing at his excitement.

"Well Estel it began in the forest in a downpour." began Lostoriel as the four strolled back into the city. Elrohir's arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist and Elladan feeling like the world made a little more sense again as he watched them smiling at each other like idiots with Estel grasping his hand tightly as they listened to Lostoriel recall her tale.

And for a moment Lostoriel felt as if she had never left.

()()()

Elladan rested his legs on the balcony railings, stretching his muscles with a contented sigh. His eyes fixed upon the two slender figures strolling hand in hand down the garden path alongside the winding stream. He could hear his brother's lyrical laugh from where he sat high above and his heart warmed; it had been a long time since he heard Elrohir laugh like that.

The four of them had spent the rest of the afternoon together with the Halfling Bilbo Baggins joking around, eating and telling Estel and he stories from their childhoods. The normalcy of having Lostoriel around again filled him with warmth, it was as if they were younger and the world was a less dark place.

Unconsciously his hand began to stroke Estel's wavy hair which lay in a mess on his lap whilst the child practised his reading skills. Tonight Erestor had him reading the tale of the Hare and the Deer, it was an old fairy tale of Men that Gilrean his mother had begun to read to him.

"Stop it Elladan!" Estel swotted his hand away from his hair, trying to wriggle away laughing. But he was too slow for the elf. Elladan quickly threw his arms around him and squeezed him against his chest pressing a large kiss on his forehead.

"Dan! Leave me!" the boy laughed and used all his might to push his brother's face away. The boy kicked out and landed with a soft thud on the couch.

Elladan turned to him, an exaggerated frown on his face, "Too old to get love from your brother are we?"

The child rolled his sparkling brown eyes, "Yes." He answered simply before crashing onto Elladan's chest arms thrown around his neck, "But not just yet."

Once the two settled into the quiet of the night Elladan spotted the pair of elves sitting on a stone bench not far into the gardens, Elrohir's hands held Lostoriel's face, one of hers on his cheek the other holding his hand. Eyes locked on the others the space between them closing quickly until their lips met in a kiss so deep Elladan suddenly felt guilty for watching them. He couldn't help but smile. Before he carried on spying on them he turned to check that Estel was still reading. Satisfied that his little brother was quietly reading aloud, he turned his attention to Elrohir and Lostoriel.

Upon seeing that their faces were still smushed together he almost laughed, the sight looked so normal, so sweet and yet he still felt a twinge of mild disgust at watching her kiss his brother. It was not anything bad of course, it was just the realisation that this was the elf who would most probably one day take his brother from his side. Forgetting that thought he turned his gaze skyward, eyes running over the stars that looked down upon them on the warm summer's evening.

His mind floated to the conversation he had with his father in the wee hours of the morning when the sky looked the same as it did now.

Elladan was sprawled out on the grass in his mother's garden just below the kitchens. His nightshirt billowing out around him and his dark hair melting into the shadows. He looked like a great, four legged spider with a pair of eyes that shone with fury unlike the joyful stars that they watched. He couldn't sleep. Not after the fight he had had with Elrohir.

Guilt turned his stomach, anger through his head and a strong sense loss pulled at his heart. Elrohir had acted selfishly, as if Lostoriel's death had only affected him, as if it had sent only him into a mad search for her that had lasted months if not years and as if King Thranduil hadn't refused to believe that she was truly gone. He hated that Ro seemed to forget who it was that pulled him from the depths of grief, who sat with him as the light of the Eldar left him. Who gave up his strength and will to live so that his brother could see the next minute.

It made Elladan's blood boil, it made him want to shout from the rooftops and knock some sense into him. Preferably with a boot or better yet with a chair. But he wouldn't do that to Elrohir. He'd let his brother's conscious have its way.

Soft footsteps came towards him, barely audible above the melancholic singing that filled the air. His hands unconsciously reached for his sword that wasn't there moving away when he felt the presence of his father behind him.

Elrond watched his son with concerned eyes as he approached, something was definitely wrong. Elrohir was not with Elladan, either his other son was sleeping or the pair had had a fight. That was usually the only time the two were apart. He was silent for a moment coming to lie on the grass with his son, "If you glare any harder at the sky you may just shatter the moon ion-nin. Why are you alone this night?"

The pair were unmistakably father and son, grey eyes staring at the same sky, the same thin lips pressed together in stern lines.

Elladan turned to face his father, "I needed some air."

Elrond hummed in response, raising a sideways eyebrow, letting Elladan take his time. His eldest had always been slow to speak how he felt, he had believed that his worries were his alone to carry. One could never force Elladan to talk about how he felt. He was too stubborn to talk about it in the first place and then eager to take his time to formulate the right words to express himself.

"I didn't tell Ro about Lostoriel and he saw her before we went to bed. He just lost it with me Adar. He stormed off and only came back late into the night refusing to talk to me or to even look at me. He was furious that I had kept this from him, he had every right to be but I didn't know how to tell him. I didn't know what to say or how to process it myself. But he…" Elladan paused to calm himself.

"Elrohir turned it all to revolve around himself, everything became my fault. As if I didn't lose one of my closest companions, as if we didn't lose a part of our family and didn't spend decades mourning."

His voice thickened, nearly choking on his tears, "And he blatantly ignored the fact that it was I who had to stop him from killing that beast himself. That it was you and me and Arwen everyone else who had to watch him fade almost to his death and had to practically pull him from the death! He was so selfish Ada, he acted as if the years we spent searching the East with Legolas hadn't happened. As if all our tears and strife had been for naught! I got mad then. I said something I shouldn't have. I had meant to tell him, but I was too afraid of what may have happened. Of him falling into his grief again. I couldn't risk almost losing my brother again."

Elrond sighed placing his hand over Elladan's, "Peace my son." He sat up bring the sniffling elfling with him and wrapping him in his arms. Elladan rested against his father's chest, ear listening to his calm heartbeat and letting it soothe him. "I'm not saying that he was right to act in such a manner Elladan. He was wrong to disregard your feelings as were you in hurting his."

"Ada."

"Dan." Elrond answered in the same pleading tone, he gently stroked his son's hair, "Understand where he is coming from. Lostoriel is his One, whether either of them know it or not. When she died so did a part of him. Yes if it weren't for you and the rest of us he may have not been here now, but his and our lives have changed again and perhaps for the better. He has a chance to be happy again, he has a second chance at love."

Elladan sat up his thoughts disturbed by the small snores that escaped Estel's mouth. The book lay in a heap on his stomach rising and falling to the slow rhythm of his breath. The Elf carefully set the book onto the couch and scooped the child into his arms laughing as the snores deepened. The stark contrast between Estel's unbridled energy in the day and his exhaustion at night continued to amaze him. Mortals were strange beings, he mused to himself carrying his brother out of his room, much like Elves the sun told them of the start of the day, but their bodies were oddly attuned to the light in the sky. The moon was a beacon of sleep for them, or at least, that was what he thought.

His thoughts turned back to his conversation with his father, it now seemed like it was ages ago. His Ada was right, the Valar had given Elrohir a second chance at love and Lostoriel one at life. Having seen the look of pure love and happiness upon their faces the entire day made him realise that. His heart swelled at the way his brother smiled, truly a part of him had returned from the dead. The two of them had a long way to go, but they had each other. Elladan supposed that that was all they needed.

()()()

Whilst Elladan was carrying Estel to bed, unbeknownst to anyone a Dwarf leaned silently against the stone railing of the balcony outside his room. His fingers unconsciously tapping in tune as he hummed an old song of love and loss that his mother had taught him. His deep humming resonating in tune with the slow, lament the Elves had decided to sing that night, echoing from the Hall of Fire. He swore that they could have been about the same thing, the sadness of their floral words mixing smoothly with his own melancholy.

His weary eyes had been watching the stars, noting the constellations in his mind and wondering if his father looked down upon him; now ready to guide him back to their homeland. His dark hair blended into the night as he turned from the stars. His steady gaze sweeping over the landscape of Rivendell and accidentally landing on an Elven couple strolling hand-in-hand, up a pathway leading to what looked like a waterfall.

His eyes widened as he noticed that it was Lostoriel with a dark-haired elf he had earlier seen rushing through the halls. Her long, brown-blond locks cascaded down her back, standing out against the deep green dress she wore. The moonlight seemed to follow her with every step she took. He turned away from the private scene, his stomach churning with guilt and sadness.

The Dwarf tugged his coat across his chest, shivering in the cold breeze. He wondered if she truly would not come with them, he hoped she would, her skills may be useful to them. But also he hoped she didn't, should they pass through the Woodland Realm there was nothing stopping her from having them captured and forbidden to pass through. Nothing stopped the Elves from forcing them to give up a portion of their birth right in exchange for uninhibited passage through MirkWood. Silently he berated himself for thinking in this manner.

No, she was not like that. She was different. And yet the uncertainty of her allegiance gnawed at the back of his mind. Watching her now with the other Elf made his heart sink to the ground. He was beginning to understand what he had been told about the "friendship" of Elves and why he should have never allowed himself to fall in love with her in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lancelot2point0 for beta reading this chapter!


	9. No Time to Look Behind

It had nearly been two weeks since Lostoriel had begun training with Glorfindel and her body was feeling fitter and stronger. Her agility with the blade and bow was returning, the twins and Fili and Kili who had joined their training sessions and were beginning to struggle to keep up with her. Though Elladan and Elrohir were still much stronger than her and had been keeping a tally of how many times they had bested her in a sparring match.

Her memory was still hazy whenever she tried to recall how she had returned. Nor could she recall the week leading up to her death or disappearance or whatever she was supposed to call it. She had decided to just leave it and wait for it to pop into her head. Smaug had continually appeared in her dreams and it was beginning to agitate her.

The Dwarves had made themselves comfortable in Imladris after a few days of vigorously complaining about being in said city. They had eventually come around after being "offered" an entire barrel of ale, wine and had had the kitchens prepare them an entire dinner of purely meat. The tranquillity and restfulness of Rivendell had sunk deep into their bones and hearts, letting them relax after months of being on the road.

Lostoriel had been avoiding them as much as she could, her sense of pride getting in the way of her telling them that she was to join them. And they in turn were still too embarrassed by Thorin's straightforwardness, he had been acting strangely since they arrived here. He was tenser and more brooding than usual according to Bofur, however Dwalin had picked up on his moods and had the Company lay off him for a while.

Fili, Kili and Ori however had begun to spend more time with her, the brother's sparring with her when the twins weren't and Ori hiding away in the library with her and Bilbo. Lostoriel was beginning to enjoy being in their company, they reminded her of her friends from home, though they were just a little less rowdy than her elven companions. She had been disheartened when Aerinniel had told her that Arwen was in Lothlorien for a time. They had been friends since before they could ride, Lostoriel had suddenly felt a gaping hole of loneliness in her stomach. Arwen was one of the few people she had missed the most.

Today the trio were racing back down the valley wall and onto the forest path leading into the city. Elladan sped up and moved in front of his brother with Lostoriel lagging behind them. He cheered in victory as he ran to the edge of the woods. His cheer turning into a horrified scream when Lostoriel jumped out of the branches of a tree and landed silently in front of him.

"Really now, you're still falling for that?" She smirked.

Taking advantage of both their surprise she bolted off into the city laughing ecstatically. She heard their footsteps quickly closing the large gap between them. The pathway led to a bridge, Lostoriel leapt onto the railing and bolted into the low branches of a willow tree. Running on its thinnest branches as if it were solid ground and then leaping across the large gap onto the next tree.

She carried on like this, hopping and swinging from branch to branch like some sort aerobic cat-elf creature, until she found herself collapsed into a heap on the wet field. She struggled to catch her breath watching a flock of geese fly overhead in the pale blue sky, their squawking carried down to her pointy ears on the ground.

The twins were still far behind her and she had no intention of letting on how exhausted she was. Their training routines were ridiculous. Lostoriel had never and told herself that she would never understand why Legolas enjoyed doing this with them whenever they were around. Lostoriel ruled it down to ellon competitiveness, rolling her eyes, her brother could bring them both down with one hand tied behind his back if he so desired. Though she wouldn't dare to tell him that.

She held her sides as her muscles pinched below her lungs. The run had thankfully been the last part of their manic regiment, it had followed after their deathly stretches and exercises that they both enjoyed far too much for her liking.

Lostoriel slowly got to her feet just as the twins burst through the treeline, looking like two scarecrows running as if the straw had been taken out of them. The pair passed her huffing and puffing heavily before unceremoniously dropping to the ground.

"Nice of you to finally join me!" She called cheerfully standing between them, "Thought I'd be waiting here for the entire morning."

Elrohir groaned turning onto his back and glared at her. "That...That was an unfair race."

Lostoriel scrunched up her nose, "Uhmm no it was not."

"Really? I recall you running off into the trees like a squirrel." Elladan pointed in her vague direction, his muscles too sore to move properly.

"And I recall you trying to kill me with that climb."

"Your form of revenge," began Elrohir sitting up and holding his arms out to her which she took and tugged him upwards. Lostoriel mock-scowled at him as he made his body go limp so she'd have to pull him up by herself.

"Come on Elrohir, don't do this." She laughed, "My arms are sore enough."

"Is entirely cruel." Ended Elladan where he still lay on the ground uncapping the waterskin and downing its contents.

"No it's not. It's entirely fair for the week of the seven hells you two have put me through." She smirked at her use of the earthen phrase.

"If I recall correctly, you and Legolas torture us like this when we come visiting too." Elrohir pushed himself up sending Lostoriel stumbling backwards with a loud yelp. Laughing he caught her in his arms, an eyebrow quirked upwards, "It was only right that we should return the favour."

She decided she liked the look on his face, but not when the half-elf set himself to tickling her at her sides just below her ribs, "Elrohir seas! Stop!" her protests were accompanied by fits of laughter. She swotted his hands away and reached out to tickle his stomach. Elladan groaned from where he sat, their laughter being a bit too loud for this early in the morning.

But he couldn't help but grin at them acting like clowns in front of Lindir who stood in front of all three of them eyes resting anywhere but upon the trio and lips pulled into a thin line. He looked rather awkward standing there, watching the Princess of the GreenWood threaten to drown his Lord's son in the river and then bury him in a secluded part of the valley.

Eventually he realised that they were never going to notice him whilst they stared into each other's eyes. Elladan coughed loudly, sounding suspiciously like the word, children. Saving the minstrel, who was more like an older brother to them, from the painful job of doing so himself. Lindir gave him a thankful nod, his lavender purple tunic shining in the morning sun.

He greeted them with the kind smile and the cheery 'good morning' that Elrohir had grown accustomed to as a child. "My Lords and Lady Lostoriel. I do not mean to disturb your morning activities," he turned to address the twins, "Lord Elrond requests your presence in his council meeting at once."

Lostoriel withheld her laugh from them, an amused smug smile upon her face. She hated meetings, they were miserable, time consuming nonsense. But they hated them more. Preferring to be anywhere else but in the presence of noble elves and their somewhat snotty attitudes. "My Lords you should be off performing your duties."

Elrohir looked at her in mock offence, "Oh wipe that smug look off your face."

"Yes, you look entirely too happy. Lindir is there no paper work we can give the Princess here to do?" asked Elladan before he yelped at the smack in the stomach from Lostoriel as they walked back towards the city.

"Please no. I'll go rock climbing with you again. But no paper work."

Lindir laughed at their antics, "Luckily you have been saved by Lord Glorfindel who in his words, 'got dragged' into the meeting too."  
()()()  
"Dammit!" Lostoriel swore again as she rubbed her blackened hand on her black leggings. Over the past few days whenever she reached into her pockets her fingers were met with a stick of chalk or charcoal she had stowed away years ago.

She turned out the pockets of the simple crimson tunic she wore, the crumbs and grey dust of chalk and charcoal falling onto the grass. She had been hiding away in the gardens with Bilbo, Fili and Kili for the day.

All three of them turned to look at her, eyes wide in curiosity and amusement that she would use such language.

"Oh don't look so shocked! I've heard you two use much worse language." A hint of mild annoyance in her voice as Fili and Kili shared a look and laughed at her.

"We're not laughing at your language Princess." Kili pointed vaguely in the direction of her head.

"You've got something on your uhm…" Fili gestured to the large streak of black across her nose and cheek.

She scowled, wiping it off with her sleeve, but only making the mark bigger. "Is it gone?"

"Not completely" he said over the sound of the Dwarves laughter, "Let me see if I can help."

Bilbo dropped the book he had been reading with Lostoriel, he had asked her to teach him how to speak and read in the Elvish tongue. To which she had happily obliged. Patting his pocket he searched for a handkerchief, which he of course did not have.

"So why exactly do you have such things in your pockets Lostoriel?" asked Fili smugly.

"Well," began Lostoriel whilst Bilbo used his white sleeve to wipe off the charcoal, but only made it spread across her face in a wider line. "When I was younger I could never sit still, especially in lessons or meetings and I was always drawing. On everything, much to our dear Galion's dismay. So he and my brother began to sneak pieces of chalk and charcoal into my pockets whenever they could. It-" Lostoriel abruptly ran to a halt, seeing Bilbo's mortified expression.

"Bilbo what did you do?"

Bilbo smiled sheepishly, though judging by Lostoriel's alarmed look he was sure he frowned instead. "Uhmm well... It's not as bad as it was before" he lied barely containing his laughter, "I think I made it worse."

By now the dwarf brothers had stopped sharpening their swords and were gleefully laughing. Lostoriel rolled her eyes, sighing as she resigned herself to her fate, "It's alright Bilbo."

She paused throwing whatever remained of the chalk onto Fili, "Oh will you two shut up!" the elf couldn't help but laugh with them. The four sat there under the shade of the trees with nature buzzing around them and laughter flowing out of them so loudly that they hadn't heard the approaching footsteps.

"Ah good to see you lads are still causing trouble!" Came Balin's amused voice as he stood with hands on his hips watching them delightedly, Bofur just behind him grinning as he saw Lostoriel's face.

"I hope they're not the reason you're suddenly turning grey m'lady." He said cheerfully raising his eyebrows at her face, tucking his hat under his arm.

Lostoriel gave a tired smile thinking that he looked strange without it on, she was almost tempted to ask him to put it on again. Just so he'd look proportional again she smiled back jabbing a thumb at them, "Those two are definitely the reason. How they've gotten through these past few days without me killing them has truly been a miracle."

Two mock-shocked gasps emerged from them, Kili's mouth already open for a witty retort when Balin cut him short. The elderly Dwarf fished out a thick roll of parchment from his coat pocket, Balin breathed deeply, his white beard moving with his chest.

"This," he held out the cream roll, "is for you. It's a contract laying out the terms and conditions of our Quest. We've all signed one and yours is no different to ours. I know we may have scared you off the other night, for which we are sorry, but the lads and I were hoping that you would reconsider Thorin's offer. You offer us a valuable set of skills, knowing Smaug's weaknesses and how we could possibly kill him." the old Dwarf hesitated, "Gandalf also mentioned that you are a scout and Captain in your father's army. Having you come with us will be more than helpful lass."

It took all her strength to not roll her eyes to the heavens, of course Gandalf would mention that. Lostoriel sighed inwardly, the wizard would never cease to amaze her at the things he said that he wasn't actually supposed to say. But she could not stay angry with him, if Mithrandir trusted them enough to tell them of her rank and position, she supposed she could too.

Lostoriel chewed at her lip, yes she had told herself and Glorfindel that she would help them, but signing a contract would complicate things should her father discover what she was doing. Both she and Lord Elrond hadn't known whether to tell her father or not about her "resurrection," or "re-appearance." They'd decided it might be best that she travel home and tell him herself. But going on this Quest could jeopardize all of that.

She took the parchment out of Balin's hand, eyebrow raised at how heavy it actually was. "You didn't scare me away, please don't worry about that." She lowering her voice in case there were any other Elves around, "I've decided that I will be coming along."

Balin gave her shoulder a kind squeeze, "Good lass! Take your time with reading it and," he winked at Bilbo, "Try not to faint doing so."

With that the elderly dwarf turned and left the gardens humming a merry tune as he went along, leaving Lostoriel to the mercy of Fili, Kili and Bofur's endless amount of chatter and poor Bilbo turning a bright shade of pink at the mention of his contract reading incident.

"So you fainted?" she asked the Hobbit, amusement thick in her voice as the three dwarves competed with each other to tell her the story.

Lostoriel tried to listen to what they were saying, she picked up a few phrases of "Incineration!?" and "Poof! You're nothing more than a pile of ash!" But she couldn't fully pay attention to their story.

How she was going to explain this to Elrohir and then to his brothers was beginning to make her stomach churn and her head hurt. Lord Elrond would undeniably try to stop her, if only to keep his head attached to his body should her father find out. If he found out.

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat, as she unfurled the scroll. Valar give me strength, she sighed heavily inwardly, there is no easy way to do this is there.  
()()()  
It was sometime later when the moon had risen high into the night sky that Lostoriel found herself pacing across her bedroom floor. She had by now ploughed a thin line of footprints on the cold floor beside the fireplace as she rapidly slapped the contract on her. The twins had known about the Dwarves intentions to reclaim their homeland. They had said that they merely overheard a conversation in the hallways, but she knew that that was only half the truth. But Glorfindel had kept her choice firmly between them.

She unfolded the parchment, staring at the end of page where her flowing signature was under Balin and Thorin's. "Thranduiliel." She traced the dry ink with her thumb, sighing heavily as she thought of her father. He would definitely not approve, no his dislike for the Dwarves ran thick and true, but this was her decision to make. He didn't even know that she was alive yet, Lord Elrond had suggested sending her with an escort to the GreenWood should she decide not to go with the Dwarves. But she had declined his offer, she would undeniably run into him on the road to Erebor. One way or another. She tried not to think about how he would react. She decided that that was a bridge she would cross when she got to it.

She didn't know how Elrohir react. He would try to stop her she knew, he would be afraid. Should she stay then nothing prevented her from returning home as she knew she'd eventually have to. But she hated that she had to leave him again, she hated that they spent so much time apart before she left and that now she may not return. But this was something she had to do.

She walked to the door, breathing in deeply before opening it and stepping out into the stillness of the night. She couldn't keep this from him any longer, not when she had just found him again.

The she-elf briskly took off towards his bedroom down the hall and knocked at the door noticing that the firelight didn't stretch through the doorway as it usually did. He and Elladan, as she had learnt, had begun to leave their doors open, just a crack, so that Estel could find his way to their rooms if he was having a particularly bad night.

She tried the door handle, but it was locked. Elladan's was open, he would know where his brother was. She knocked on his door particularly loudly and waited patiently for him to answer. She would have to tell him too, but he could hardly ever say no to her, besides Arwen she was his other little sister who he doted on.

"Why on this good green earth are you up at this ungodly hour?" he asked groggily from the doorway. Lostoriel gave him an amused smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. He noticed how she grinded her teeth, the movement making her jaw bulge to one side.

He blinked rapidly, his eyes still filled and his sleep hair sticking out in all directions in the loose pony tail it was tied in. "What's the matter?"

"Do you know where Elrohir is? I need to talk to him." she played with a bent part of the parchment. Elladan noticed how worn it was at the fold she had made on the crisp sheets. Something was bothering her.

"He's in his hiding spot as usual, he couldn't sleep. What's that?" he gestured to the parchment.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it." The elleth tried to hide it behind her back, but his lightning fast reflexes were too quick for her. He snatched it from her hands, his eyebrows raising well into his forehead like Lord Elrond's did, his eyes widening in shock.

"Herein lie the terms and conditions of employment in the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Lostoriel tell me you're joking?" horror filled his chest, he sincerely hoped that she had signed this and then changed her mind. Legolas and her father were going to kill them if they dared let her go on such a perilous journey.

"Joking about what?" they both froze as Elrohir's voice came from behind them. The smile on his lips quickly turning into a look of concern as he noticed Elladan's mortified expression as he stared at the parchment then Lostoriel's flushed face. "What's this?"

Elrohir reached for the stack of paper which slipped easily out of his brother's limp hands. His eyes scanned over the contents quickly and came away downcast when he saw her signature at the bottom.

Lostoriel played nervously with her hands, this was definitely not the way she was going to tell him.

"You're going with them?" his voice ringing off the walls, "Are you serious?"

Elladan and she shushed him at the same time, it would do them no good to argue loudly at this hour.

"Lostoriel…" he began.

"No, I know what you're going to say." She cut him off before he could try to change her mind. "I have to do this."

"No you don't." they both answered at the same time.

"Don't have to do what?" the trio jumped as Elrond appeared out of nowhere behind Lostoriel and Elrohir. Barefoot and still in his black day robes, the dark circles beneath his eyes not falling beyond Elladan or Elrohir's notice.

Huffing quietly Lostoriel took the parchment from Elrohir's hands and folded it again.

He hummed, raising an eyebrow as he stood there, with his hands behind his back, his grey eyes studying them with concern, discerning the situation immediately when he noticed the parchment in her hands.

"We have it under control, don't worry Ada." Elladan calmed his voice, not wanting to upset his already troubled father. Elrond looked at Lostoriel in understanding before plodding off back to his room, this was not his fight. Not this night. His awaited him in the morning.

He didn't want her to go with them either, but he knew it had to happen. Elrond pinched his temples as he thought of the tense, unpleasant conversation he was to have with her in the days to come. He hadn't been wrong in telling her his visions, but the twisting pain of uncertainty pulled at his chest. Elrond hoped he had been wrong in encouraging her to pursue her future. He would be sending her to her death, and to allow for the deaths of countless others should they wake the dragon and fail to kill it. Elrond shut the door behind him, hoping beyond hope that Lostoriel was not about to tell Elrohir what he thought she was.

Thranduil would undeniably have his head on a stake when he found out about his involvement in her choices. He pressed his forehead to the door, he would never be able to live with himself if she died, again. Or if he let them pass through his lands and spell out the deaths of innocent people.  
()()()  
Elrohir and Lostoriel marched down to the riverside where they would not be heard. The coolness of the breeze sending shivers down her uncloaked back as they picked their way across the bridges and slopes of Imladris. It was almost as cold as they daggers she threw at him with her steely eyes. The silver moonlight lit their path as the pair unconsciously walked in and out of the patches of shadow and starlight. Lostoriel's steps were nothing but a whisper in the night as she tried to calm herself down.

Neither one of them said anything, neither one of them really knew what to say if Lostoriel was being honest with herself. They had realised their feelings for each other just when their lives seemed to fall apart. He and Elladan had left Rivendell for a time to wander the plains of Middle Earth and hunt down what orc they could find after the RedHorn Pass ordeal and the darkness had begun to spread rapidly in the GreenWood. Lostoriel could not leave her home and had never known where Elrohir and her brother were for almost an entire century. They had grieved and waited, never knowing if they would've seen each other again. And now faced that same situation.

"You should not going Lostoriel!" Elrohir's voice cut through the tension of the night. His brows were drawn together in a thick line telling her all she needed to know.

Lostoriel turned to meet his gaze, looking him in the eye, not backing away as they made it to their destination, "I'm not asking your permission for this Elrohir."

"I'm not saying that you need my permission. All I'm saying is that this," he gestured to the parchment still clutched in her hand, "It's a dangerous, reckless idea."

She stepped closer in the darkness to Elrohir, taking her time to formulate her words. "A week ago your father came to me telling me that I had a choice to make. That my fate and that the fate of this company rests in my decision."

Lostoriel paused giving him time to think about what she had told him.

"This is my decision, I will help them whether you or anyone else approves or disapproves of it. Your Adar told me not to let his fears get in the way of my decision and that my purpose here wasn't over. I did not suffer for a hundred years in a foreign world for nothing."

He kicked a stone into the shallow stream, not wanting to voice the gnawing fear at the back of his mind, "What were his fears?"

"That if we should not succeed that an evil so great and malicious will grow out of the East sending everything into shadow. If the power that festers in Dol Guldur reaches Smaug in the Erebor then the East will fall and our defences will weaken. Our homes may burn to the ground and fall into darkness, along with Lothlorien and Esgaroth if we do not kill the dragon." Lostoriel stopped her pacing and came to stand next to him. "We may not have a future after that. At least not one worth living."

"And don't you dare try to tell me that I am wrong. We have fought him for centuries in our forest! You experienced it yourself! We have pushed back the darkness that has been spreading from Dol Guldur, pushing us further North! Taking hundreds of my people with it! I have thought about this for many years and I'm going."

He could not argue with what she was saying, he too knew the consequences of letting the dragon rest there any longer. He shivered at the thought of the nauseating, all consuming hatred that radiated from that forsaken fortress, he remembered the hoarse voice that had tried to enter their minds. The hundreds of spiders nests, giant bats and other red-eyed creatures that had growled and stalked them as they had hidden in the trees and bushes with Legolas and her patrol units all those years ago.

"Have you forgotten that this is the very beast who killed you a century ago?" Elrohir looked at her pleadingly, but she wasn't swayed. Her face was impassive, he knew that Lostoriel may never come back, but she also knew that she had to do this. And that she wanted to.

"No Elrohir I have not! This is something I must do for them," she pointed towards the city, "And for me. My Adar will be furious yes, but I can deal with him when I see him."

"I can I let you run back into danger after you have just come back to us? Not only are you risking your life but that of Thorin's too. A sickness lies upon that treasure. You know it as well as I do. Should he succumb to it, then your quest may have been in vain! What if he tries to kill you!? What if Smaug gets to you first?"

"I don't have the answers you want Elrohir. And I'm not asking you to let me go. " Her voice stern and unshaken. Elrohir recoiled, he hadn't heard that icy tone in her voice since Legolas and her had fought over whether she should train as a warrior many years ago. She would have her way then and so would she now. Lostoriel was the more reasonable between her and Legolas.

For a moment Elrohir had forgotten that the one he loved was the daughter of the ElvenKing who brought men to their knees in fear and had a gaze so fierce and piercing that when he had first met the ElvenKing as a child, he had wanted to run straight back into his mother's arms. He had passed down his stubbornness and temper to his daughter and it showed now as she stood there arms crossed over her chest, nostrils flaring in anger and her shoulders and chin held in determination. Daring him to argue with her.

"I've faced Smaug once before, I know where his weaknesses lie! And yes it's a real possibility of Thorin succumbing to dragon sickness, but he is stronger than that meleth-nin." Lostoriel held his hands in hers, her weary eyes hiding none of the determination and faith she had within her.

"Madness may have gripped his father and grandfather but I believe that he is not them."

"The white council meets in two days to decide the fate of this quest. It is likely that they will deny them their Quest." His voice was barely above a whisper.

Lostoriel almost laughed, "Know you nothing of the stubbornness of Dwarves? Especially these ones? They will leave whether the council approves of it or not. And so will I."

"I'm not trying to undermine you, but I fear that you may not survive again. What about my fears?" The anguish Elrohir felt within him showed clearly on his face, his ears reddened.

Lostoriel's face contorted between anger and heartbreak, "I understand your fears perfectly well Elrohir." came her eerily quiet voice, "I know what it feels like to have the one you love go off in search of danger. For almost two centuries we all stood by and watched as you and Elladan recklessly hunted orcs and still do. Yes we tried to stop you, but we eventually trusted that you both knew what you were doing."

Her voice loudened as she cupped his face, all traces of anger floating away into the night, "And all that I would ask of you now is that you would trust me to know what I am doing. I cannot be kept in Imladris forever, my home and the world beckons to me."

Elrohir finally allowed himself relent, the anxiety within him lessening, but not fully leaving him. He knew it wouldn't, not until he saw her again once this was all over. "I do trust you Lostoriel. You're right. I ran from here to do what I needed to do. It wasn't the wisest of choices, but you trusted that I would come back. Both you and your brother stood by us. It is unfair on you for me to not do the same. "

The words ran from his mouth before he could stop them, his worry getting ahead of him, "But how do you know that you will be able to kill the beast? He got you the first time."

Her warm hands fell from his face letting the air bite at his cheeks, turning them rosy. Lostoriel recoiled within herself, the glittering light of the stars leaving her eyes and tears replacing them.

"Have you so little faith in me?" she asked bitterly, a humourless laugh left her lips before she looked up at him again. Her words stuck in her throat, her brain unable to articulate what to say. Lostoriel couldn't believe that he would let his fear blind him this way, she couldn't believe that he would allow the thought to slip into his mind.

The elleth smiled mirthlessly at him, ignoring the tears that had fallen on both their faces, before brushing past him and disappearing into the night. Elrohir sank onto the stone bench, his body going cold as couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in his heart that he had lost her for good this time.  
()()()  
Erestor and Estel found her in a secluded part of the gardens, her eyes closed and her arms crossed against her chest, soaking up the last of the sunlight. The Hobbit had come with her to the gardens but had since disappeared to his room after nodding off to sleep on the grass in the potent autumn sunlight, leaving her to her melancholy.

She had spent over an hours strategizing an escape route with Gandalf, the sheer stress of the plan and the tension within her from her fight with Elrohir had given her a pounding headache. According to Lord Elrond they were meant to leave two days after the White Council had met, but according to Gandalf they were leaving the next day just after night fall.

She not found much sleep the night before, her mind had been unwilling to believe what Elrohir had asked her, how he had asked her and what she had done to him. He had deserved it. Who was he to question her abilities against a dragon he had never lain eyes on? Who was he to tell her that he won't let her go with them? As if she were a little girl. But she understood his fear, the anxiety that he felt, never knowing when he'll see her again. Still he had no right to treat her thusly.

Lostoriel blinked back tears, she was fully aware of the wall she had built when she walked away from him. She had felt it in her soul. She loved him, she truly did, but Lostoriel knew that she needed to do. The elf scowled at the sun, her one. Should she lose him…The thought of fading and wasting away into a shadow of herself, of never loving again made her entire being ache. She tucked away those thoughts, concentrating instead on the warm heat of the sun on her toes.

"Ah!" sighed Erestor standing over her to block out the sunlight, "So this is where you've been hiding! I've been looking for you all day."

Lostoriel groaned as the cold touched her bare feet, "The sunlight." She tried to swot his leg away, which he skilfully dodged.

"Estel." He shared a knowing look with the child who was hopping from one foot to another in excitement. "Go ahead."

The small child threw himself on Lostoriel, tackling her with his small hands trying to tickle her. She shouted in fright as his full weight knocked the air out of her lungs.

"You little imp! You think you can defeat me so easily!" she laughed, rolling him over onto the grass and tickling him on his stomach. Laughing gleefully at the squeals of joy which came from him.

"No no more! I relent!" he rolled out of her grasp and sat on the grass red faced and catching his breath.

The thin-lipped councillor had something of a smile on his lips, a highly unusual look for him. Though the tips of his pink ears gave away his amusement. "Well done Estel!" he winked at the boy who grinned, proud at the praise he received.

He then crossed his arms and frowned at the Elleth laying limply on the ground, "Right then. Now that you're up there's something Estel and I would like to show you."

"Could you not leave me to soak up the last of the sun, please?" she whined, but Erestor was not easily swayed with that too innocent voice that she used. He was much too accustomed to Estel using it to get his way with him or Glorfindel. Though the old warrior usually relented to whatever the child had to say after looking at him once.

Estel bounced around them, clearly excited about whatever they wanted to show her. "Nope! No you can't! You're going to love it! Come on let's go Toriel!" Her other hand shook as he waved it about in his. The nickname he used sending a jolt of sadness into her heart, the dull look in her eyes did not pass Erestor's observation.

Lostoriel forced a grin onto her face, "Right then, if only to stop you from bouncing off the earth all together."

"I'm sure it won't stop him from doing so my dear." Came Erestor's elegant voice, his large grey and black robes flickering about him in the wind.

She allowed them both to pull her up, "How in earth did you manage to get in here?" He asked pulling several fishhook seeds off his tunic sleeve.

"The trees." Answered Lostoriel earning a small smile from the chieftain of the house

"You WoodElves and your trees." Erestor shook his head unbelievingly, "Now come along the sun will be setting soon." The slight pull of his lip let the two know he was smiling, though to any onlookers it looked more like a feral snarl.

They left the garden through the part where the least brambles were after Erestor's insistence and Estel's persistence.

Soon he led the two of them down several staircases and across bridges descending to the lower levels of the city. Estel babbled away about vastly different topics, his mind changing quick as lightning. And Erestor being silent as a mouse, looking at Estel between them with what Lostoriel could only describe as fondness and love? She wondered how this child had managed to work his way into Erestor's closed off heart so easily.

She had trouble keeping up with the pace at which the human boy spoke, it was like listening to one of those tapes from earth on fast forward. Only less squeaky and more bouncy as his head bobbed up and down as he spoke. Estel held her hand the entire way down, pointing at the different waterfalls and houses surrounding them and telling her one story or another of how he or his brother's had gotten into a significant amount of trouble from jumping off the small cliffs.

At one point when he decided to show her a beautiful birds nest in an oak tree , Erestor whispered a hasty apology about him being capable of going on for hours and that she could just ask him to stop.

Lostoriel had politely declined the offer, she was enjoying the child's company. His vibrantly and innocence was a refreshing change from the dull, serious adults she had been around. Though she was an adult herself, but she was still young in the eyes of her people.

By the time they'd reached their destination Estel had introduced her to at least ten different elves, all of whom were friends with him some way or another, four of his animal friends who resided in the elven city and had pointed out all three of his favourite waterfalls and statues. She had lost track of what he was saying after she met the little rabbit that burrowed under a rather small tree. He noticed this and caught her up on it, starting from the very first day he had met the mousy brown creature up until he had fed it earlier this morning.

She was beginning to understand why Erestor had apologised. Lostoriel winced hoping that she hadn't chatted his ear off as a child. Which, if she was being honest, she probably did.

"Here we are!" The chieftain announced proudly, pushing open a large wooden door of an exquisitely carved, mahogany wall that surrounded the area.

She stopped at the entrance, preparing herself for the blast of heat that she could feel pulsating from the other side.

"What are we doing at the forges?"

"Just come on Lostoriel! You'll see!" The child pulled her in, the heat fully hitting her.

Erestor led them towards the right of the forges, tall stumps of metal and wood surfaces dotted the area, the roaring of the fires and the deafening clinking and clanking of hammers on anvils and hissing of hot metal meeting water overrode their senses.

How Estel managed the sound was beyond her since her sensitive Elven ears rang and pained with the sharp, overload of sounds until they made it to a quieter part of the forges, tucked away in an alcove where light spilled in from open windows.

The child let go of her hand and bounded off in the direction of the light, "This way! You're going to love this!"

Lostoriel drank in her surroundings as they walked into the large space, it seemed to be a studio of some sort. Pieces of parchment hung precariously a top of each other on the walls, stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Filled with all sorts of mesmerising ideas for weapons, dishes and to her surprise a belt buckle, were scribbled and drawn in different coloured ink.

Shelves along the adjacent wall were filled pieces of pottery or disregarded and proudly displayed inventions and weapons. Her eyes were fixated on an intricately carved ebony bow, gold and silver rivers of mallorn leaves and flower patterns snaked around it. She ran her fingers just above the bowstring, not quite touching it, but close enough to notice that it was two thin pieces if gold and silver rope wrapped around a single thick black string.

"That's Glorfindel's best one yet! You should see the dagger he made for Ada last year!" Piped up Estel from behind a desk littered with paper and wax crayon drawings. Obviously he spent much time here.

"This is Glorfindel's forge?" She had forgotten that he had an interest in craftsmanship.

Erestor popped his head back into the room from an adjoining door. Dusting his hands off on a stray cloth. Trying not to gag at the afterthought of what that cloth could've been used for. "Yes it is... If he's not shredding a poor training dummy down, or being an irritant he's usually in here or the library."

"You enjoy the company of this particular irritant!" the disembodied voice of Glorfindel carried through the walls before the door burst open bringing with it two sweaty elves.

Glorfindel and Elladan were both holding long rolls of blanketed weapons from what she could see from the hilts which peaked out from under the covers. He grinned at a glaring Erestor. Though the Balrog slayer paid him no head, used to his mannerisms. He motioned with his head for Elladan to lay the weapons on the main table which was surprisingly, the neatest surface in the entire room.

"Only on days that don't end with a 'y'."

Glorfindel threw a dirty cloth at the pristine elf and danced around Estel who was pushing his way to the large desk to see the finished product of Glorfindel and his brother's hard work.

Elladan coughed loudly at Erestor who was poised to throw the cloth, preventing a long and unnecessary session of bickering between the two lords. Both he and Lostoriel shrank back at the withering glare he gave them.

"Can we see them now Dan?" He begged his brother quietly, standing on his tiptoes to reach his arms.

Lostoriel tried not to look at him, tried to push her questions about Elrohir from her mind and tried to not wonder about what Elladan thought of her now. Not that she particularly cared. She was angry and hurt that his brother had no faith in her. But she had no reason to be angry with his slightly older twin.

She cleared her throat, seemingly forgotten in the flurry of movement between Erestor, Glorfindel and Elladan as they puttered about trying to clear the desk. So this is what they've been up too every evening.

"Right! Well don't just stand there gaping at us. Come here!" Erestor's stoic face cracked into a bright, rare smile.

"What's going on?" She eyed the weapons almost hoping they were for her and judging by the excited looks she was getting she knew she was right.

"It occurred to us, "started Glorfindel, gesturing to the three on either side of him, "that you have been practicing with the basic weapons. But your skill is far too superior for such things, so we made you your own."

She stood there, her mouth opened and closed several times. Lostoriel knew she probably looked like a fish out of water, but she didn't have the right words to express herself. That was high praise from the most skilled and revered warrior this side of the sea. But even higher praise from the elf who had become something like family to her.

They gestured for her to unfold the pale, green cloth. Which she tentatively did, still rather oblivious to what was happening.

Lostoriel's words escaped her when the gleaming silver steel of the sword sheath and dagger caught her eye. The elleth simply stood there, not daring to breathe in the expectant silence.

"These are for me?"

"No they are for me." Came Erestor's dry reply, "Of course they are for you child."

Making sure Estel was planted firmly on the other side of the desk she unsheathed the sword. The rasping of metal against metal echoed around the chamber.

Lostoriel gasped quietly. The curved blade caught the firelight of the forges. It was light in her hand as she brought it down to her side whilst Glorfindel and Elladan pushed the table out the way.

"Go on then, give it a go!" the blonde elf settled himself on the table, Estel squeezed between his and Elladan's shoulders for his own protection. The child had a knack for getting himself in trouble.

Lostoriel gave it a few test swings, easily swinging it in circular motions with her wrist. She admired the way it swung so fluidly with her body. The leather on the hilt was soft and fitted perfectly into her small palm.

Her words failed her. Wild, excited eyes met the Balrog slayer's calm. She studied the blade carefully examining both sides, running her fingers along the trailing silver vines of leaves of the greenwood that snaked from the leather hilt to the bottom of the blade. The tiniest of flowers were carved into the pattern, beginning with one in particular that looked suspiciously like the insignia Glorfindel bore upon his breastplate that he wore to battle.

"The dagger next!" Shrieked Estel.

Lostoriel laughed at his enthusiasm, "Are you not a little too young to be so excited about weapons?"

The child shook his head frowning at the offensive, in his books, question. "Of course not."

She re-sheathed the blade just in case he decided to put his pudgy fingers in danger.

"You are all incredibly sneaky Elves…" her voice trailing off as she un-sheathed the dagger from its leather sheath.

The dagger was about the size of a short sword, curving gently like a sabre tooth, its hilt covered in black leather with the same forest pattern ran down the blue silver blade. She thumbed the dainty silver leaf carved into the square hilt with two vines twisting around it.

Lostoriel nearly dropped the blade as she recognised it. "I have not seen this insignia in many years..." she whispered.

She sheathed the blade, turning to the three elves and human who started at her intently. "You didn't have to do this...But thank you... They're magnificent."

"Don't thank us just yet. You're forgetting something." Erestor nodded to the roll laying untouched. "I suggest you open it quickly or Estel may explode in his impatience."

Lostoriel unwrapped the blanket and stared at its contents in awe, her mouth slightly ajar.

"We are no MirkWood bowyers and arrow smiths, but Idron," he referred to one of the main blacksmith of the Valley, "is the best in Imladris. He and I had begun to make this bow months ago, but thought that you would be better suited to use wield it." Glorfindel stated proudly, his and the twin's craftsmanship and endless hours of work alongside the weapons master of Imladris paying off.

The three elves shared proud smiles as they watched her admire the craftsmanship, looking like a child with a new toy. The two older elves missing the disheartened look that came upon Elladan's face shortly after that. His brother should've been here for this.

"The recurve bow is more suited for the forest regions, but this longbow design is small enough that it'll serve you well in any terrain. It's the only one in Middle Earth." Proudly stated Elladan, shaking off his thoughts. Whilst he spoke Lostoriel tested the bow slowly pulling the string back to gauge its weight.

Lostoriel carefully lowered the bowstring into place, having painfully learnt her lesson about the power of bowstrings long ago as a training warrior.

"Can we see you shoot it? Please Glorfindel, can Lostoriel shoot here? Please?" The child pleaded with the first commanding officer of his Ada's army. His wide, shining hazel eyes tore Glorfindel's protests apart before they had a chance to reach his mouth. Lostoriel looked rather lost, her unsure gaze moving between him and the child. Erestor thankfully saved him, but the task was no less easy for him.

"Not in here Estel, perhaps tomorrow. Nightfall is almost upon us and we must get you into bed early tonight." His voice was soft, but firm so that the child got the message before all four of them let him have his way.

Lostoriel tried to tell herself that she was not a terrible person for leaving tomorrow without telling the innocent child.

Glorfindel nodded in thanks, an unspoken message passing between the three of them before Elladan led the way out of the forges with a deflated Estel dragging his feet behind Erestor.

"I cannot thank you enough Glorfindel!" she threw her arms around the old elf who gasped on impact, but none the less embraced her with a ringing laugh. "You and the twins did not need to do this! They're wonderful!"

"I couldn't exactly let you go after a fire breathing dragon with old, dented weapons now could I?" he held her at arm's length, noticing the dullness of her eyes and her fading smile. Elrohir had had the exact same look in his at breakfast, Glorfindel strongly suspected that he knew what had happened. Now his suspicions were confirmed, but he wouldn't involve himself, firmly believing that they were old enough to resolve whatever this was on their own. But he couldn't help but worry, having no elflings of his own, the children the Elrond and even Thranduil had become like several exhausting and overly active sons and daughters to him.

"Why did you carve the Golden Flower onto the blades? I had thought that symbol was for you only?" she inquired in such a way to not offend him.

He merely gazed at her, the wisdom of all his years filling his eyes. He lightly hopped off the table and stood before her. Raising himself to his full height, looking every bit as noble as he was whilst he clasped her forearm with one hand.

"So that they may serve you well Daughter of the Wood, you will see in time." Came his cryptic answer, "May you protect the lives of many. Those Dwarves are about to have the presence of Middle Earth's finest." He lightly touched her cheek, "And by the Valar please try not to die this time around."

The pair laughed merrily, with Lostoriel trying to blink back the tears that came with Glorfindel's high praise

"Thank you Glorfindel." Lostoriel's expression grew serious, "I'll try not to."

He embraced the young elf one last time before handing her the quiver of two dozen arrows, "Your father will skin me alive if you do. I have an inclination that he may come storming into Imladris crying war if you do." The ancient, ex-Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, descendant of Princes and Balrog slayer reincarnated shuddered at the thought of the very embodiment of anger that was Thranduil coming to decapitate him. Lostoriel seemed to read his thoughts as she broke out into a fit of laughter.

"Right then off with you! I do believe Estel is waiting to bombard you with more requests to shoot."  
()()()  
"You ponder upon much Daughter of the Wood." A quiet whisper of a women overwhelmed her thoughts. Lostoriel's sword halted in mid-swing, she spun it in her hand as she turned to find the source of the voice.

She looked around the training and seeing that it was empty she continued to experimentally swing the blade. Lostoriel realised with shock that the moon was now at its zenith in the night sky, she had been out here for hours practicing with her new bow and blades. The elleth dismissed the voice as a figment of her imagination.

"You can no longer run from your destiny. You have chosen your path." the voice seemed to resonate deep within her this time. She could not sway it out of her mind like she did with the trees. This time she froze on the spot. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as she caught a flash of pure white between the trees on the top of the bank. Lostoriel was never one to believe in the supernatural, but now alone in the dead of night she was ready to kill whatever unnatural thing came at her.

She tried to concentrate on the feeling of the quiver on her back again and the sword and dagger in her hand when the image of that horrid clown from those earth horror films popped into her head.

You really shouldn't have watched them. Shaking off the thought she carried on stabbing at her imaginary opponent.

"Out of the darkness she walks, nameless under the stars."

"Unto danger nigh, over the mountains and down below. The Daughter of the Wood walks alone."

This time she swung her sword in the direction of the voice, which was so eerily near to her that she nearly screamed when she saw the light moving towards her.

Lostoriel lowered her weapons when the blinding light began to fade and the fairest, most radiant Elf-women she had ever seen stood before her. She stood limply gaping at the Lady of Lorien. Her golden tresses cascaded down her back like waterfalls, the very stars seemed to shine upon her brow which was adorned with a silver circlet. And her pure white dress and coat that seemed to shimmer with moonlight pooled around her feet.

"But she is not alone." The elf-women spread her arms open, her presence seeming to warm the frigid night air around them.

"Lady Galadriel!" she greeted breathlessly sheathing her weapon and immediately bowing lowly, her right arm resting over her heart.

"Rise child." Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien gave her a deep nod before pulling her up gently by the elbow. "You need not bow Princess of GreenWood the Great."

Her smile was as radiant as the very sunlight, but her eyes… Her piercing sky blue eyes that seemed to reach into Lostoriel's soul softened as the Lady of the Lorien studied her.

Taking in the crimson tunic that made Lostoriel look shorter than she was and black tights, her hair that was pulled back tightly in a single braid that fell to her hips and the weaponry that was strapped to her back and sides.

The elfling stood patiently waiting for Lady Galadriel to start speaking, remembering the lessons in formal protocol she vaguely recalled Galion drilling into her. She had met Lady Galadriel several times, but now more than ever was completely nervous standing in the presence of Elrohir's grandmother, let alone probably the most powerful elf in middle earth.

"You need not be afraid of me. I do not bite." the elleth laughed, to Lostoriel it sounded like the ringing of wedding bells and bird song. "Walk with me."

She held out a pale arm for Lostoriel to take, which she did somewhat apprehensively remembering to try to keep her thoughts clear of anything that a noble-women would not approve of. Lostoriel tried not to shudder at the thought of Lady Galadriel reading her mind.

Galadriel smiled to herself whilst Lostoriel's thoughts rang in her head. She steered them down towards the river below, the chilly wind not bothering her.

"You cannot turn back now, no matter how much your heart desires to remain here."

"I know my Lady." Came Lostoriel's sombre reply as they descended a staircase, under which a small waterfall ran leading to the lower levels of Imladris.

They fell into a comfortable silence, well comfortable for Lady Galadriel. Lostoriel felt the want to run and hide away from what she knew was coming.

"You don't need to speak to me so formally princess." A warm smile graced her lips, "speak to me this night as Galadriel only and I speak to you as Lostoriel."

The elfling huffed a laugh, relaxing her tense shoulders. "Alright..." she was still reluctant to call her by her name. It felt wrong, she could hear her father's voice scolding her for forgetting her manners.

Galadriel elegantly seated herself on the low bench on the river bank, "It's no coincidence that you return now. You should not ponder on that which has passed Lostoriel, he will come around eventually." She gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind Lostoriel's ear.

Lostoriel should've seen the quick change in subject coming, the Elven Lady was never one to beat around the bush. Still it felt downright weird to be speaking about Elrohir with his grandmother.

"He has no faith in me." The young elf willed her tears not to fall, but to no avail. "I have ruined the one good thing I…This love… it is…" Galadriel was quick to pull her into her arms, Lostoriel was quick to lay her weary head on her fair shoulders, feeling sloppy for sobbing on Lady Galadriel's clothes. But Galadriel didn't mind, she had felt her heartache since she took her arm. She stroked her hair as quiet sobs escaped the elfling beside her, her grandson was definitely going to get a firm word from her later.

"Since when have you needed anyone else to believe in you except yourself? When has others opinions ever swayed your own?" at that moment she sounded like her mother, "You have ruined nothing, this will be mended in time. All is not lost." Lostoriel sank further into her arms, soaking up the safe comfort of being in an older elleth's arms after almost an entire millennia of not knowing that warmth.

The moment was lost when she doubled over gasping as blinding pain filled her head.

She saw herself strolling through a forest. Her black hiking boots glistened with the morning dew. Her ears filling with the melody that had woken her up that morning. It was haunting, in a language she hadn't heard any but herself speak in years. And it called out to her to follow.

She looked down seeing the sharp, high drop in front of her she tried to back away but found that she couldn't. The roaring of the gushing waterfall next to her drowning out her thoughts. Her toes hung in the air, her heels seemingly glued to the wet grass. Then a flash of white and she knew no more.

Spots and stars floated in front of her, but not those from her eyes. These were constellations rushing overhead, billions and trillions of winking stars. A bright sparkling kaleidoscope of purples, blues, pinks and gold in the darkness mingling with the soft voice that called out to her. She knew that voice, her entire body froze as she listened to it sing that song from her childhood whilst the damp rain falling around her.

Lostoriel retched for breath. The heavy darkness of the night pulling her downward, Galadriel caught her just in time, before she fell off the bench. Gently easing her back she spoke to her in soft soothing words. Galadriel wiped away the tears that had fallen down her face. The haziness of her mind disappeared as Galadriel sang the same ancient Quenain verse that she had heard in her memory. Once she had calmed down Lady Galadriel spoke again.

"You have heard her, she calls for you to follow what is in here." The older elleth held a hand over her chest, gazing firmly, but not unkindly at Lostoriel. "It is time you follow and that you take this."

She reached into a hidden pocket in her robes and pulled out the leaf pendant that Radagast had tried to give her. Lostoriel gasped at the sight of it, she had been so ready to deny it before, but now. Now she felt the pull of home emanating from it, the sight of adventure and the unknown calling out her name.

"Do not be afraid of that which is meant for you."

Lostoriel lowered her head for Lady Galadriel to place over it, she was speechless when the cold chain rested on her chest and a warmth so great and so familiar swelled within her.  
()()()  
The pitcher of wine slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground, shattering into hundreds of pieces and shallow pools of deep red wine. The lone elf gasped as his breath was knocked from his chest, he stumbled forward hands reaching out for the table in front of him. The warmness emanating from his chest should have comforted him, it should have brought him peace.

Instead it brought every wave of emotion he had tried to supress for so long, he felt everything so strongly at once that it crippled his knees and had his chest seeming to pull at itself.

The mighty ElvenKing leant heavily upon the table, silver tears running down his fair face. He bit back a sob that threatened to escape, falling into a heap on the ground when it shook his body.

Outside the vast, dark forest shuddered, the woodland creatures freezing in place when a mighty wind bent the trees as the unchecked anguish and sorrow of her king radiated from the mountain fortress.

"But it cannot be…"


	10. Running into the Unknown

A cloudy night had descended upon Imladris, the silver light of the moon and stars was hindered by the heavy rainclouds that hung just above the mountains. All was silent save for the hissing and trickling of the waterfalls and rivers and single songbird that sang into the twilight. She scanned the depths and open land in search of them, but could see nothing save for a tiny, bobbing ball of yellow and a trail of caps making its way into the forest.

Good, she thought, they are well on their way.

As the twilight faded a lone, cloaked figure was perched upon the silver balcony railing, blending in the shadows high above from where the Council was to take place. Just close enough to hear what they were saying, but far enough that no one would notice her presence. At least that was what the figure had thought before Lady Galadriel sensed her observance and turned towards her giving smile somewhere between amusement and reprimand.

"He approaches." The Lady of Lorien's grave warning echoed in her mind just as Lostoriel could feel their grey presence trickling into her thoughts. Something about his power felt familiar.

"Why do you wait as a spy would to their quarry?"

Her right hand immediately reaching for the dagger that wasn't at her side, her grip loosing when she saw who stood in the dim light of the quiet alcove. Lostoriel lightly jumped from her perch, bowing her head towards the Istari. Lostoriel attempted to block her mind from his power, pushing back her knowledge of the Dwarves whereabouts and thinking instead of the glittering sky above her.

"Saruman the White. Forgive me I did not know it was you." her guard was up however.

She had never fully felt comfortable around the wizard, there had always been something off about him. The way he was overly confident and prideful in himself and the superior airs he wore like a crown when he spoke to Radagast had made her keep a wide berth from the wizard whenever he was around.

"I wait not as a spy," Lostoriel laughed innocently turning back to face the Valley drinking in the view, "I merely wished to watch the sky above, such a fine midsummer's eve should not be lost to a WoodElf." The lie rolling of her tongue like butter.

The white wizard came to stand a little ways next to her, clearing his throat. He was unconvinced, but Lostoriel wouldn't allow him to know a single thing about the Quest. He would not only try to stop them, but would undeniably send them packing to Ered Luin again and her on her way home.

"Your decision to go with them is folly." Saruman leaned on his staff, his beard swaying in the wind. The already wrinkled skin around his eyes scrunching up, reminding her of those tiny, triangular faced dogs that lived in the villages of men.

Cutting straight to the point then are we? It took considerable effort for her to not roll her eyes or walk away from him then and there.

"And how do you know that I have decided as such?" her voice came out stiffer than she intended it to be.

"Why else would you be standing here eaves dropping on a meeting of the white council?" he scowled, "Did you honestly think your presence amongst these Dwarves would go unnoticed? That your Dwarvish companions will survive? Do you honestly think they will be able to kill the beast? What happens if they do not? If you do not? Are you prepared to be responsible for the deaths of hundreds?"

Lostoriel played with her hands, she tensing ever so slightly under his scrutinising stare. The Elf said nothing, eyes fixated on the waterfalls on the other side of the Valley. Could he not ask one question at a time, or was he thoroughly incapable of such conversation?

He stepped closer to her circling him as a vulture to its prey. She could smell the musky, stale scent that accompanied him, his pearl white hair and beard fluttering in front of her eyes as he paced in a too-close circle.

"And if you do survive, how long will it be until Thorin Oakenshield goes mad like his grandfather and forgets you? How long will it be until he tries to take your life? An Elven princess, whose birthright died the moment she did. The very same one whose father rode away from aiding the Dwarves after the dragon attacked, it's almost laughable. The Dwarf runt will not hesitate to rid himself of your presence." he stood behind her, his warm breath on her ear, "After all he did leave you to die."

Lostoriel could almost hear the feral smile that split his face, the heavy pull of his magic stuck her to the ground, unable to move or speak. "You going on their little quest is folly. Other than them using you to slay the beast for them, why else do you think they take you with them?"

She refused to believe it. Thorin hadn't left her to die, he would have escaped to save his people. Insecurity flooded her senses, the rushing of her blood deafening all else. Surely they did not need her to do their dirty work for them? Surely she was not going only to die again?

Her brief moment of vulnerability was all Saruman needed to skim through her thoughts, absorbing all he needed like a sponge.

"You are afraid. For yourself and for your one." Saruman practically snarled at her, "Your love for that half-elven is fickle and weak. What do either of you stand to gain from it other than heartache and death? Do you honestly believe he will remain immortal for you?"

Lostoriel resisted the urge to punch the wizard who looked down his nose at her, she pulled herself from his grasp, her hands balled into fists for just a moment. Unclenching them so he would not use it as ammunition and glaring at him so fiercely that he stepped back.

"With all due respect Lord Saruman, my relationship with the son of Elrond is none of your concern. What you have to say of it is of little worry to me."

He snorted scornfully, "And you believe that the beloved Valar have brought you back for a reason. That you have purpose. Surely their benevolent selves would not let you do what they can? Are you sure they haven't returned you only to perish for good this time?"

Cold tendrils of fear began to wrap themselves around her heart, "Surely it could not be them who have brought you back?" the petrifying realisation of what he was implying hit her with the force of a mountain.

Lostoriel studied the Lady of the Wood from afar, her white dress flowed elegantly to the stone floor around her. The burning sunset turning her golden hair into flames of pink and orange. Lady Galadriel had not lied to her, neither had Lord Elrond or Mithrandir for that matter. Glorfindel would not have so readily armed and trained her had he not believed that she would survive. No she refused to believe that the forces of… darkness were behind her return.

"Silly girl. You cannot make this decision on your own, for all the wisdom of your long years you are truly unwise."

The Elleth had had enough of his pointless babbling, she stepped forward threateningly, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists.

"And you forget to whom you speak wizard!" she growled menacingly rising to her full height. Lostoriel was a full head shorter than the wrinkled wizard, but she now seemed to tower over him, the soft white light of the Eldar subtlety flickering about her. The foul scowl upon her face unnervingly reminded her of the ElvenKing. "It is not in yours or anybody else's capacity to make my choices for me. Now I will be relieving myself of your presence."

Lostoriel didn't waste another minute, she turned hot on her heels and briskly strode to the archway that led to the exit of the alcove. Her shoulders squared in dignity, as she paused looking over her shoulder at the infuriated wizard.

"And it is your majesty or highness Istari."

Saruman leaned on his staff, satisfied that he had managed to plant the consuming seed of doubt within her thoughts.

()()()  
Lostoriel had stormed off to her bedroom, throwing open the door and hastily palming the wall for the light switch. Only to bite back a frustrated scream, five minutes later when she remembered that electricity didn't exist in Middle Earth.

She moved to her bed shoving the items of clothing and food provisions she had asked Aerinniel to get for her into her pack. Her shaking hands making it difficult to fold what she could. The pure fury and agitation of what Saruman had said consuming her.

He didn't know what he was talking about, he had no right to tell her what to do, what to feel. And had absolutely no jurisdiction to tell her that her love for Elrohir was fickle, or that the Valar and Lady Galadriel were wrong. "They sent you to earth and brought you back. It is not as he says it is. And no Lostoriel, the Dwarves are not using you."

She told herself as she closed the buckle at the bottom of her pack, setting it onto the bed to begin putting on the light armour that she would travel with.

"You know that they see more value in you with or without the warrior. They will succeed. They won't die." She tugged on the leather chest plate that Glorfindel had given her, clipping the strap together. But how can you be so sure about that? As for your birth right, your title now means nothing.

Lostoriel ignored the thought, slipping on her leather armbraces and then her sword belt. How do you know that Thorin won't succumb to the illness that lies over that treasure? If he does what keeps him from killing you?

The blood rushed from her limbs, making her body cold as she pulled her quiver over her head and made her way to the door. And what if you all should fail? Are you ready to shoulder the deaths of those who will die?

What if Saruman is correct? What if I am just a silly girl? What if I lose all I have come to love here because of this Quest?

Lostoriel paused, hand hovering just above the silver door handle. She stepped back, unable to shake the image of the GreenWood burning out of her mind.

No. I cannot do this.  
()()()

Lostoriel and Bilbo stood silhouetted against the firelight burning from the lanterns around them. Both staring at the dramatic mural of the Last Alliance atop the balcony in Elrond's house. She had decided to bid farewell to Bilbo before he left with the Dwarves, she had spent the better part of the night biting her nails and contemplating whether she should or shouldn't go. She had spent weeks preparing for this treacherous journey, but after the doubt had won the battle, Lostoriel decided that remaining in Imladris may be the safer option for them all. Bilbo shifted the pack on his back wearing disappointment like a cloak.

"You're really not coming with us?" he broke the heavy silence first.

The elleth couldn't meet his eyes, her gaze firmly fixed on the image of Sauron towering over Isildor.

Lostoriel swallowed the growing lump in her throat, "No mellon-nin. I cannot do this. There is too much risk."

Bilbo's heart seemed to sink to the ground, he coughed uncomfortably, not sure what to say to her. After all the confidence and strength he had watched pour into her from their stay in Rivendell he would have been lying had he believed that he wasn't disappointed and confused as to why she now chose to remain behind.

He turned to her, holding out his small hand, "I believe that this is where we say farewell Lostoriel. It has been an honour to befriend you."

Lostoriel blinked back the hot tears that sat waiting behind her eyes, somewhere within her bones she knew that this was the wrong choice, but she refused to acknowledge it.

"As with you Master Baggins." She firmly shook his hand, the gesture was formal and hesistant. Lostoriel kept her gaze fixated on the floor.

The hobbit turned away, silently running down the stairs to catch up with the Dwarves. He paused in the doorway to the next hall, "Lostoriel!"

He looked up seeing only the harrowing mural and empty light floating through the air.

Bilbo Baggins firmly shut his mouth, his soft brown eyes filling with regret. With one last look at the vast halls of Elrond he turned on his heels and made for the exit.

Only once he left did Lostoriel dare to come out from the pillar she hid behind and made her way to her room. Ready to pack her bags to return to the Woodland Realm on her own, Saruman and Lord Elrond had been correct. Whether she had fought the dragon or not she had no business going with the Dwarves, she would only be a hindrance in their success. Should they fail the blood of hundreds would be on her hands.

Elrohir watched silently from the bottom of the stairs, he had stumbled upon them by mistake. She disappeared, shoulders sagged and her glow diminishing. He knew he had to do something to help her. No matter what they had said in their argument and despite how he felt , he knew that she had to do this.

The Dwarves and Bilbo were well on their way to the forest path that she and Gandalf had picked as the fastest route into the Wild. Gandalf had told, or rather drilled it into them that they had to leave around midnight should they want to make it out of the Valley before sunup.

()()()  
The dark sky began to turn grey and pink to the East when Lostoriel finally decided to get up and don her travel clothes again. She winced as she remembered regretfully bidding farewell to Bilbo in the twilight and had hid like a coward from him when he called to her.

The fading moonlight glinted off her hair as she watched as the stars from her perch on the balcony railing. They called to her, urging her to go with the dwarves.

Perhaps it is best that the answers remain unknown. Lostoriel adjusted the quiver on her back, grabbing her bow and slinging it across her chest. Her heart beating wildly, her limbs itching with anticipation.

She could vaguely see the white figure of Lady Galadriel in the distance, standing at the edge of the pavilion where the council was taking place.

"Since when have you needed anyone else to believe in you except yourself? When has others opinions ever swayed your own? You cannot turn back now, no matter how much your heart desires. Lostoriel heard the elleth's voice in her mind.

"You must leave now!" Lady Galadriel's fair voice rang clear in her ears. The "what if's" in her mind were blocked out by the sounds of why not? She hadn't killed that slug, perhaps now was the best time to finish the job before he took anymore lives.

It was now or never. Adventure beckoned and nothing held her back as she leapt into the unknown.

She swung herself from the railing into the nearest tree, her limbs finding hand and footholds easily as she swung from branch to branch. She was a shadow flying through the trees steering clear of the Last Homely House and landing soundlessly on the railings of the high bridge leading to the stables. She hated to do this to Lord Elrond, but she had to. All had been in explained in the letter she had left for him, and in the letter she had left for Elrohir. She only hoped that they could forgive her.

She bounded over a staircase and onto another tree sliding down its branches and running like the very hounds of death were behind her, to the lower levels where the stables were quickly coming into view. No one heard or saw her coming, all that could be seen was a flash of green and brown whizzing through the sleeping city.

Lostoriel clambered down into the stables, sliding down the stone railings and dropping with a soft thud her knees bent to absorb the impact. She snuck in passed the stable hand who was lightly snoring next to a stunning chestnut coloured mare. She tried to stick to the shadows, but the horses were too observant for that to happen. Lostoriel began to speak calmly to them, asking them to be quiet for her.

Striding to the back of the stables where she knew Elrohir's stallion was, Lostoriel couldn't shake off the guilt and embarrassment that ate at her stomach, but Tallagor was the only horse who knew her and wouldn't readily throw her off his back. She stood there confused and panicked when the stallion was not in his bay, nor was Elladan's. She hadn't heard any horses leaving Imladris during the night.

Lostoriel was about to take the horse in the next bay when a small nut hit her shoulder, "What the?" she hissed spinning to the direction from where the projectile was thrown from. And freezing on the spot when another hit her squarely in the chest. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she stared unbelievingly at Elrohir who stood between the two unsaddled dappled grey horses.

She counted to ten trying not to yell at the elf when he placed a finger on his lips and then pointed beyond her shoulder. Slowly she turned, hearing the stable keep stir behind her. Lostoriel moved silently towards Elrohir.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"No time to explain. Let's go." His voice serious as he held the side door open with his shoulder letting the horses pass through first.

Once they were out of the stables Lostoriel glared at him, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Helping you." He mounted Elladan's dappled grey mare, Gwedal. "No time to explain, the Council is almost over and Lindir and Erestor know the Dwarves are gone. Adar has asked them to look for you next."

Lostoriel nodded firmly swiftly jumping off the ground and onto the horse in one fluid movement. Tallagor threw his head back in excitement, smacking his hooves on the ground as he anticipated the freedom of riding bare backed. He could feel his rider's excitement as she trotted him next to his sister.

"Ready?" asked Elrohir, his hair flying in the morning wind.

"Ready."

"Bolt Gwedal!" he commanded his horse and shot off onto the broad pathway.

Lostoriel lightly grasped Tallagor's silver grey main, pressing her heels into his ribs. The horse needed no more direction as his muscles bunched up and he shot off like an arrow from the bowstring.

The horses sped up and down the bridges and pathways leading to the forest. The trees blurring around Lostoriel and Elrohir as she let Tallagor take control for a moment. Her one hand gripped his steely grey mane, whilst the other yanked her hood from her head. Laughing at the pure adrenaline and freedom she felt as the stallion flew through the woods.

Elrohir stole a glance at her, a smile breaking on his face. This was the Lostoriel he remembered. Carefree and wild, every bit as Silven as her mother was. He pulled his hair loose from its fabric tie, letting it fly out behind him. Lostoriel laughed at his antics, watching as his plan backfired and his hair flew into his face, leaving him to sputter about as the wind kept pushing it over his eyes.

Their horses picked up on their rider's excitement. The pair of Elves lessened the pressure from their heels spurring their horses to carry them out of the forest and onto the mountain path ahead. Tallagorn whinnied when they broke free of the trees, Lostoriel let him run freely until they made it halfway up the mountain pass. From here on the pass could only be travelled on by foot, the wide path narrowed until it was just wide enough for one person to walk on at a time before it opened into the Wild lands.

She trotted him for a bit before dismounting, thanking him for his help when she placed her forehead on his snout.

Elrohir dismounted, not worried about their horses wondering off as they were well trained to obey their riders.

He turned to face Lostoriel, a range of emotions stretching over his face. "I was wrong to say what I did and I will not ask you for forgiveness. I know that I don't deserve it."

He stepped towards her, taking her cold hands in his and slipped a ring on her middle finger on her left hand. Lostoriel nearly laughed at the old, faded metal twisted in the rough pattern of intertwining branches. She had made this for him years ago when the world was slightly fairer and they were younger.

"All I would ask is that if you see the door to Mandos that you would fight with all and every ounce of life that you have within you." His voice trembled with fear and love. "Come back to us, please."

Lostoriel's eyes shone with unshed tears as the sun slowly peaked between the mountains. She closed the distance between Elrohir and herself.

Placing her hands on his shoulders and forehead on his, she looked up earnestly into his soft eyes. "I don't resent you for feeling so Elrohir. I will come back."

She kissed him deeply, her fingers tangling themselves in his hair, his wrapping around her back pulling her into him, not wanting to let her go. She melted into him, whilst his hand caressed her cheek. They stood for a moment longer, savouring every second of time. Elrohir was the first to pull away, he cupped her face between his hands.

"I love you Lostoriel. You need to go now if you want to reach them before nightfall." He kissed her forehead one last time.

"I love you too meleth-nin." Smiling lovingly she placed a hand over his heart, feeling its rapid beat on her palm. "Tell your Adar that I am sorry for leaving in this manner and Estel to forgive me without saying goodbye." She paused ready to leave, looking him dead in the eyes.

The unspoken message was clear on her face, don't die if I don't come back.

She saw the hesitation upon his face and looked at him imploringly, the urgency apparent in her voice, "Promise me."

He let go of her hands, moving to remove the quiver from his back and emptying the arrows into her quiver. "I won't Toriel. I promise."

Elrohir came to stand before her, looking at her as if she were the very stars themselves. Awe and wander filling his grey eyes, "Now, I believe you have a dragon to slay."

"Thank you Elrohir." She grinned at him before steeling one last kiss and turning in the opposite direction and took off running up the mountainside. "Don't get up to too much mischief whilst I'm gone."

Her voice carried down on the wind and he laughed, the sound every bit as lyrical as she remembered. "I won't!"

He stood watching as she made it up the snaking path, the sunlight glinting off her dirty blonde hair and sword. Elrohir's heart swelled, then deflated knowing that he may never see her again, but confident that she wouldn't perish so easily. She would once again walk the forests of her home and of his.

Once she had disappeared over the ridgeline into the thick forests above, the elf turned and led the horses back down to Imladris, sighing. He had a lot of explaining to do.

Lostoriel paced herself as she scaled the winding path, full of large bends and shifting sand. She could hear the footsteps of the last of the dwarves ahead of her. They must've passed through the borders already. Exhilaration filled her body, all the anxiety she had felt in Imladris melting away with the last frost of the morning.

Her booted feet carried her lightly in the orange morning light. She had finally made it to the top of the path her heart sunk as she stopped to drink it all in for the last time .The peaceful sanctuary tucked itself away beneath the falls and mountains. She was leaving her heart here with Elrohir, Estel and her family in Imladris. But the world beckoned to her. She could hear the mountains and valleys shouting her name. The song she had heard in her memory the previous night echoed in her mind.

"Farewell." With that she was on her way again as the sun stretched over the valley walls.

"Master Baggins, I suggest you keep up." She heard Thorin's distant cold call to Bilbo. A wide grin plastered itself on her face. She was nearly with them.

The dwarves had moved quicker than she anticipated they would. They were well on their way onto the wild when she had only just passed through the borders of Imladris.

Lostoriel slowed to a walk for fifteen minutes before starting up into a paced jog for another thirty. Keeping her eyes upon the ground as he tracked the slight path they had worn through the dense forest. The strong scent of pine intoxicated her and made her run even faster.

She kept up this pace until the sun began to dip below the horizon and she found herself near the edge of the treeline. Lostoriel heard the sounds of their camp being made, the fire roared to life and someone was chopping wood nearby.

She caught sight of Dwalin and Bofur circling the perimeter of their small camp, hidden away in a meadow of wildflowers. Their axes held firmly in their hands as they gazed into the hazy darkness. She would have to play it carefully from here on, unless she wanted to be beheaded.

Lostoriel readjusted her quiver and strapped her sword to her waist before bolting up into the trees. Sneaking towards the camp like a green and brown wraith. When she came within earshot of Dwalin's breathing she let her cloak fly out behind her, and stepped purposefully incorrectly on a branch to get a loud creak from it.

"Someone's watching." Growled Dwalin.

Then she let herself be seen. Her hood showed only the protrusion of her chin, her long, thick cloak made her blurred figure in the trees. She was enjoying toying with them.

"There!" Quietly pointed Bofur towards left.

"Where? I see nothing."

"It was just there." The brown – haired dwarf scanned the trees, searching for the figure that had jumped from one tree to the next.

"Kili come here!" hissed Dwalin swinging his axe over his shoulder.

Kili appeared into the dim light holding his bow loosely in his hand, his brows furrowed together, "What's going on?"

"Bofur saw a figure in the trees, we might be watched." The bald dwarf looked again, a look of pure murder on his face. It was then that Lostoriel decided to leap from the thick branch and land softly behind Fili, holding her dagger against his neck. He knew the move and wouldn't harm her if he realised it was her.

Multiple startled cries came from the camp causing their hearts to ice over as they saw Fili being held against the figure, a short dagger held to his throat.

The dwarves were up in arms, each of them glaring at the hooded man. From what they could see he was lightly armed with wood- brown, leather a bow and sword on their persons and a short dagger peaking from beneath their green grey tension was so thick that Bilbo dared not breathe.

"Who are you? And what do you want?" Growled Thorin.

Fili recognised the scent of trees and lavender that arose from the figure holding the sword limply in front of him. Long, blond hair fell across his shoulder, the pieces fell into place and he quickly used her fixation on Thorin to unsheathe his sword and knock hers clean out of her hands.

"Lostoriel!" He quickly held the knife to her neck instead.

She raised an impressed eyebrow, smirking at him, "That wasn't too bad."

A collective sigh of relief came from the company as they all lowered their swords and axes. Lostoriel pushed her hood from her face, scoping out a mix of unamused glares and toothy grins from the dwarves.

Dwalin looked as if he was going to kill her then and there. Fire burned beneath his dark eyes and his grip on his axe only tightened. His heavy, guttural accent thickened as he got angrier. "Why you sneaky little elflng! You nearly scared us halfway t' death! You're lucky I didn't crack your head open with my axe."

Lostoriel sheathed her sword, showing Dwalin that both her hands were weapon free, "Well thank you for not doing so. Sorry about the fright." A sheepish smile on her face.

Dwalin merely grunted, he thought there was far too much mirth in her voice for his liking.

"Oi lassie you came!" Balin exclaimed coming cheerfully, albeit wearily towards her all too aware of his younger brother's eagerness to remove her head from her shoulders. He placed a welcoming hand on her shoulder, the gesture was awkward for the eldery Dwarf since he had to stand on his toes to do so. The elf replied in suit, smiling warmly down at him.

"Of course I did! Didn't think I'd leave you lot to have all the fun without me now did you?"

"Not for a second lass."

"Oh that reminds me!" Lostoriel dropped her pack to the ground and rummaged inside for the contract. Her hands puttering blindly across the soft cloth of her clothing and the flask of Miruvor Aerinniel had slipped in the previous day until she tugged on the folded parchment from the bottom of her bag.

She was met with a mixture of warm welcomes and suspicious looks, when she rose mainly from Dori and Dwalin and Thorin.

The latter of which met her eyes with such a fiery gaze that the smile immediately died upon her lips. He marched passed the fire to stand before her, his abnormal height letting him come face to face with her shoulders. Lostoriel however took a tentative step back, he held himself regally and confidence oozed off him with the authority of a king.

"I thought you were staying in Rivendell." He stated dryly, already on edge by being out in the Wild, but more so now that she was here.

"Plans changed."

"Why did you come? We don't need your help. Much less the help coming from the child of the king who let our people die." Growled Dwalin taking a threatening step forward. For all Gandalf's high praise of her character he wasn't swayed, the elves had no business involving themselves in their quest. This one may have fought off the beast, but it didn't mean Dwalin had to like her.

"I came because you asked." Lostoriel nodded towards Thorin, "Here." She met their eyes holding out the parchment.

Thorin snatched it out her hand, eyeing her suspiciously as he unfolded it and skimmed right to the bottom where her signature was scrawled just under Balin's. His face stoic features broke into a scowl, "How come you by this?"

"Balin gave it to me."

He turned with burning eyes to the greying dwarf, his voice riddled with annoyance and exasperation, "Balin. I thought we agreed..."

The old dwarf came to stand next to the elf, giving Thorin such a stare that it reminded him of his father reprimanding him, "We did, but this was Gandalf's orders. He said we'd be fools not to take her along. Thorin-"

Thorin said nothing, he handed the parchment to her and stood inches away from her face. When he had signed this contract he was under the impression that one of his dwarves had lost theirs, Balin's reasoning meant nothing to him, he had lied to him. Even Gandalf had tried to persuade him, but he was still hesitant to let her come. He knew he couldn't protect her, he knew the risk she was taking again. Thorin did not know if he was ready to shoulder that guilt again, that longing, that sorrow.

"I don't want you travelling with us. You'll draw too much attention towards us have no new knowledge of these lands. The world is much changed since last you walked it Lostoriel."

Lostoriel felt the anger bubble within her. One moment he wanted her there and the next he didn't. However she was determined to travel with them, whether Thorin liked it or not.

"What happened to "are you with us?"" she held up two fingers whilst she repeated his words from their first night in Imladris. Lostoriel could feel his warm breath on her cheek.

"I changed my mind." He used the same sarcastic tone she had.

"So what do you expect me to do now? Surely you will need the assistance of one who had fought the dragon before?"

"And for that we have Gandalf. Why should we take your help? Your father turned his back on us, why should we use the services of his daughter who unexpectedly returns just as we begin our quest?" he pointed an accusing finger at her, "Tell me, what prevents you from selling us out? The wealth that lies beneath that mountain is the birthright of my people.

Lostoriel huffed, rolling her eyes, he was impossible. "I am not my father Thorin, in case you are forgetting. If it wasn't for me you would be dead."

He had had enough of her, he squared his shoulders and came towards her. "And if it wasn't for you then Smaug would be dead."

Lostoriel inched forward, the insult burning into her heart. Her nose nearly touched his, "You have no right to say that. I don't care about gold or jewels, all I want is that dragons' head waving from a pole."

If she wasn't anything like her father, he wouldn't have continued pushing for her to go back to Imladris. He inwardly sighed, turning his eyes to the heavens. There would be no winning with this elf.

"Fine. Stay." He conceded none to gently, slapping the parchment onto her shoulder, "But my men will not be responsible for your fate should it lay in our hands. Defend your own and we'll defend ours. As for your fifteenth share. Well that would remain to be negotiated once the dragon is slain."

Thorin brushed passed her, stalking off to the outskirts of the camp, Dwalin hot on his heels.

Lostoriel sighed, the rage slowly seeped from her veins as she calmed herself down. She had a long and perilous journey ahead of her. The sheer stubbornness of Thorin might just kill her before the dragon did.

Bilbo gently tapped her arm, holding out a bowl of stew, "So you decided to come after all?"

The pair moved off to one side of the small fire pit, Lostoriel ensured that they seated themselves at a safe distance from the open flames. The pair busied themselves with eating the thick, mutton broth with slices of bread from Imladris, Lostoriel relished in the tantalising flavour. Not sure if this would be the last hot meal she would have in the long months to come.

Bilbo did the same, though she suspected it was because his body was still adjusting to eating only three meals that day. He had spent an entire afternoon telling her about the seven different Hobbit eating times. It was a wonder that they had time for anything else.

Halfway finished with the soup Lostoriel answered him, her voice soft, she knew that a few of the dwarves were listening. "Yes I did."

"Did what?" asked Bilbo, crumbs of bread falling from his hand.

"I came on the Quest." She explained slowly, tearing a piece of bread in half.

"What made you change your mind?"

The quiet moment between the two friends was broken when Fili and Kili plonked themselves around Lostoriel. Fili on the floor at her feet and Kili next to her, his knee digging into her hip.

"So you're a spy then?" abruptly asked Fili, nearly causing her to spill the broth Bombur had made all over her leggings. He shared the same smug look on his face as Kili, both their lips pulled into a slight smirk with one brown and one blonde eyebrow arched in curiosity.

"I'm not a spy." She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"But you're a scout, it's basically the same thing." Piped up Kili,

"It is not the same thing. Who told you this?"

"Gandalf." They answered in unison, all too pleased that they had squeezed the information out of her.

Whenever that wizard decided to catch up with them, she was going to have a firm conversation with him about what he told these dwarves about her.

The hobbit patted his damp hands onto his pants, his inner Baggins implored him to go and find a suitable cloth to do so, but the Took within him reasoned that it would dry relatively quickly. He was returning to camp after having needed to relieve himself since they set up camp, but was not comfortable with the dwarves seeing his... bits. They were brutish and not afraid to comment rather honestly about things. It reminded him of his peevish cousin Lobelia and her even more so annoying husband Otho.

Silently he thanked himself for the hundredth time for remembering to pack extra soap as he had found a stream nearby to wash off his hands. And for making it out of the Shire without his tyrant of a cousin noticing. He crept into the meadow under the pale light of the moon and his ears were immediately assailed with the heavy snores of the dwarves and the soft cackling of the dying fire. The sky above was a deep shade of black, the stars vailed by thin wisps of cloud, it couldn't have been later than midnight.

He stretched before collapsing into his sleeping bag again, muttering to himself about the comforts of Rivendell he already missed. It had barely been one night and he wished to be back in the comfortable bed he had had there. Lord Elrond's offer to remain in his home echoed in his mind.

Bilbo sighed shuffling onto his side, he could leave now and they wouldn't even be bothered. But he had made a commitment, resolved his Tookish side, he was finally doing something great. Something worthwhile which his mother would have praised him for. That was if being a burglar was something great. Other than ruining the perfectly good name of Baggins, he wasn't sure what it entailed in the first place,

The hobbit shifted again this time onto his left side, unable to get comfortable on the hard ground. He scowled, irritated that he hadn't been able to sleep. Bilbo's weary eyes flew open and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he stared into the unblinking eyes of Lostoriel.  
()()()

The elf had been asleep for hours and had she moved from the curled position she slept in. "Lostoriel."

He whispered, his body shaking gently, she hadn't been sick, nor had she been injured. Why her eyes were open?

"Lostoriel?" He hissed, louder this time, but still she didn't move. Bilbo's body froze, his inability to sleep forgotten whilst he numbly clutched his blanket.

"Lostoriel wake up!" Panic thickened his voice, his mind whirred, and he didn't know what do to.

"Lostoriel!" He hissed once again inching closer to her, she breathed shallowly. Her breaths coming irregularly. Bilbo inhaled sharply, he needed help. Fili was the closest to him and always seemed to know what to do.

He tiptoed over to him, shaking the dwarf from his sleep. "Fili!"

No response. He shook him again, harder this time, "Fili get up! I need your help!" He nearly shouted when the dwarf sprung awake, eyes ready and alert.

"What's happened Bilbo?" He placed a comforting hand on Bilbo, his wild eyes darting around the small clearing looking for any signs of danger.

"It's Lostoriel. Something's wrong, her eyes are open and she hasn't blinked and her breathing is slow. Much too slow. "I didn't know who to call for help, she it... it looks like she's ..." The hobbit sucked in a well needed shaky breath, unwilling to finish his mortifying thought.

Fili's heart knocked in his chest, elves didn't get sick, nor was this one injured. He shot up, bringing Bilbo with him, "Alright, you go wake up Oin and I'll check on her."

Bilbo nodded and sped off to the other side of the fire where the old dwarf was snorting contently, albeit loudly.

Fili on the other hand had woken up Kili and the pair sat on either side of the elf, tired eyes looking at her in worry. She looked unconscious, holding on limply to the dagger on her chest. She didn't stir when Kili put his fingers on her wrist under her armbrace to check her pulse.

However she was very much aware of it, but wasn't ready to show them that she was awake, not just yet. Lostoriel had only been asleep for half an hour, trying to rest was like attempting to read a book in the midst of a forge. Their deep, throaty and nasal snores were the base notes to the symphony of the night, falling on drums like hammers to anvils. They added an irregular and irritating rhythm to the songs of the crickets and night birds of the forest.

Bilbo returned with a calm Oin, the rest of the dwarves sensing the air of impending news which stirred them from their loud slumbers. They all gathered in a tight circle around the elf, shoulders pressed against each other, confused and bleary eyed curiosity and concern on their faces.

Oin bent over her face, listening to her slow breathing, he then placed his ear just below her collar bone to listen to her heart beat. Which was also slow, too slow for his liking. Lostoriel smelt the mint and sharp menthol scent that accompanied the old dwarf, his silver grey hair tickled her nose. It tooj everything within her not to sneeze, she didn't want to be responsible for giving the healer a heart attack.

"Is she dead?" Asked Nori, never one to be subtle.

Bifur gasped muttering something worriedly in Khuzdul to Bofur who nodded, "Aye brother you're right, she was fine earlier."

"Bilbo did you find her like this?" Came Ori's soft question, his eyes already glistening with tears.

"I... I did... But she was sleeping peacefully when I got to bed. I don't understand..."

Oin laid back on his heels, hands resting on his legs, he had no idea what was causing the elf to lose consciousness. Her pallor was a healthy shade of cream, her hands were warm and her pupils dilated when he moved his hands above her eyes.

"What's going on?" Rumbled Thorin pushing his way through the small crowd and kneeling next to Oin.

"We're not sure. Bilbo said he found her like this." He gestured at her slack form with unsure hand gestures.

Thorin blanched, he may have hated her, but she was still once his friend. He pressed two fingers just below her chin and felt her heartbeat jolt. Her eyes unglazed and he nearly smirked, she was playing an old favourite of hers.

Just as he was about to shake her, Lostoriel grabbed his wrist and several sharp gasps and shouts of delightful phrases that would make their mother's blush, came from the dwarves. Thorin rolled his eyes, an amused smile flashing on his stoic features before he covered it up with an unimpressed scowl. Rising from her side he tried to ignore the way he had jumped in fright when she had grabbed his wrist.

Lostoriel winked at him, for a moment their argument hadn't mattered, nor did their differences. They were old friends again. Then the moment was gone as quickly as it had arrived when he hastily got up to dust his pants and stalk off to his bedroll. He was still furious with her for tagging along on their Quest, but he couldn't help the small smile that spread across his face.

"You sneaky little-" began Dwalin, a laugh escaping through his scowl. That seemed to be his favourite, but weak insult.

"You're not dead!?" Shouted Bilbo and Dori at the same time.

Lostoriel sat up, looking smug, "Of course I'm not dead! I was sleeping perfectly well until you, "she gave a pointed look at Kili and then at FIli "and you came and disturbed me."

The dwarf brothers tried not to laugh, but he couldn't help it. She had played a good trick on them, no matter how morbid it was.

"You feigned dying well." Oin sat there still clutching his chest, "and gave me the fright of my life you flighty elf!"

Lostoriel gave him an apologetic look, placing a comforting hand on his, "my apologies Oin, I meant no harm."

The dwarf wagged a crooked, telling finger at her, "It's alright. You're not unconscious that's all that matters."

It was Bilbo's turn to shout at her, "You sleep with your eyes open? And then you go and give us lot a fright!"

"Peace mellon-nin. I should've warned you all before I rested." Lostoriel bit back her laugh, their surprised faces were enough to make her double over with laughter. "Unlike mortals we elves don't have the need to close our eyes to sleep. Unless we're exhausted or injured."

"Or dead?" Asked Fili.

"Or dead." Lostoriel nodded, schooling her features, "Don't worry, you're not the first to be frightened by it."

"You scared us there lass." Bofur patted her shoulder, content that everything was fine and decided to catch the last few hours of sleep he could.

"My apologies, now. If you'd all leave me to sleep."

They shared a hearty laugh and left the elf and bewildered hobbit in peace.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, only the brash snorting of the dwarves added to the symphony of night noises in the woods. And sleep had decided to evade Lostoriel. She turned in her sleeping roll for the sixth time since she had tried to fall off to sleep after the dwarves' unfortunate scare. Each time she had barely closed her eyes when a snorting, disgusting snore belted out into the night from one of the dwarves. She had half the mind to take off her socks and shove it in their mouths.

It's like sleeping in a mill. She thought ruefully as she grabbed strapped her armour unto her body. Picking up her quiver and bow and walking to where Nori was on watch.

"Can't sleep?" He didn't bother turning to look at her.

"No. Anything unusual?" She sat by him on the rock propping her bow on her lap.

"No. Other than those blurry shapes on the horizon nothing." He pointed a gloved hand to a mountaintop through the treeline, Lostoriel couldn't make out what it was from the ground and jumped up stalking towards the trees.

"What are you doing?" He whispered.

"Going to get a better view."

Not waiting a moment longer she hoisted herself onto the lowest branches of the tree. Climbing easily between the long branches, her feet barely making a sound as she hopped from one branch to the next.

Soon she was high enough to be out in the open air. The world was covered in black and blue shadow, all was silent from up here. The breeze brushed past her, sending her long hair fluttering to one side. From here she could see the mountains surrounding Rivendell, the river Bruinen snaking through the landscape and the misty mountains in the near distance.

Their snowy caps glowing dark blue in the night. A faint howl caught her ears, she immediately reached for an arrow, holding it against the bowstring as she watched a tiny group of figures vanish over a mountain top. The howls had carried across the deep ravines, they were wargs.

The blood rushed about in her head, deafening her, the dwarves hadn't noticed anything in their sleep, but Thorin and Nori had. So he's still a light sleeper then, she tucked that information away for later use.

Lostoriel bounded down the tree, afraid that any noise she made would be heard from the travelling pack below. Though she knew that was ridiculous, they were too far away for her keen elven eyes to differentiate between warg and orc.

Lightly she ran towards Thorin and Nori who had extinguished the fire to a pile of smouldering ash. Thorin turned to her, "What did you see?"

"A warg pack no less than four. Though I saw other figures with them. Maybe five or six."

To this he nodded, absorbing the information. Lostoriel imagined that she could hear the cogs and wires in his brain ticking to decide what their next move was to be. And yet, it still didn't stop him from looking at her as if she were evil incarnate.

"We leave at first light, make sure that no one starts the fire. We don't need to draw unwarranted attention." He gave them both a pointed look.

He marched back into the meadow, all shoulders and legs, though she noticed how he rubbed his wrists. He was nervous.

For the rest of the night Lostoriel circled around the camp at a distance, Thorin wasn't yet trustful enough to let her take over the night watch, but Fili who had taken Nori's place was grateful for the company.

Keeping her hood up and moving towards four different points every half an hour or so. Lostoriel hoped to cover all angles to which they might be attacked. As her eyes scanned the forest she couldn't help but think of Elrohir and then of her father and brother. Wondering how they would react to her coming home, if she even remained alive for that long. That orc pack in the distance made that possibility all too real.

Whatever peace she had felt in Imladris now boiled down to a simmer within her. They were now in the Wild. Alone, vulnerable and exposed.

It was the way her chilling conversation with Saruman had been that evening, what he had said about the dwarves using her, about her not being brought back by the Valar it all played on her mind now. As the night darkened around her so did her thoughts.

What a lovely position to be in, sarcastically thought Lostoriel sighing heavily thinking about Thorin and his distaste for Elves and now for her. She wasn't prepared to speak to him about it, or to fight with him, no she needed to earn their trust first. Which seemed like a distant possibility, they were frightened, mostly Dori, or angered by her. Befriending Dwarves was no easy feat.

Though most of them may not like her, she only had one goal in mind and they weren't going to stop her.

Lostoriel fiddled with the metal ring upon her finger, the coolness of it and feel of the leaves on her skin calmed her. Just then Bombur's pig-like snore cut through her thoughts, she grimaced watching a few fireflies fluttering in between his lips. It was definitely going to be a long, long journey.


	11. And Into the Mountains

He swung up into the trees, running lightly on the branches and notching an arrow to his bow, pulling it back, aiming and shooting in a split second. The arrow cut through the air, it's silver-grey fletching catching the dim light of the forest and piercing the enormous spider before it could swing on its web to the elf.

"Legolas! Duck!" An ebony haired elf shouted as she leapt from the higher branches and landed on a spider about to sting her friend from behind. Thankfully Legolas managed to swing himself down from the branch and onto a lower one as he did so he pulled an arrow from his quiver and shot the spider from below. The elf above, Reniel, brought her heavy sax knife down into its skull which was received with a shrill scream as she cut the long line of web attached to its bottom, sending the spider to the forest floor with a sickening crunch.

Legolas nocked an arrow to his bowstring and shot without seeming to aim, the black shaft darted through the air and impaled the spider that was bearing over Reniel as she slid on the thick branch. Her knife flashing in the pale sunlight and tearing a deep gash through the spider's body. The arachnid screeched as it fell listlessly to the ground.

The sounds of iron to flesh and metal to stinger rang across the thick copse of trees the two patrols of elves were fighting. Their long hair flying out behind them as they twirled and stabbed at the vile creatures that were hell bent on killing them and then eating them for lunch. Their swords and arrows nothing more than a series of silver flashes that were stained black with spider blood under the canopy.

Legolas clutched onto a strand of web that was still attached to a particularly horrific spider. He wrapped his wrist around it and allowed himself to descend using the thick webbing as a rope. He managed to land a top the spider driving his knife into its skull before using its upturned stinger as a platform to run on and bounce back into the trees.

Already he had an arrow on his bow string, pulled back and ready to fire when the entire forest literally bowed and a soft, tender voice filled his ears.

Legolas gasped, his head spinning as the voice grew louder. The entire fight came to a halt, spiders and elves alike when a warm gush of wind bent the trees in one direction.

Then he heard the song. Her song. A small spark flickered in his breast, his eyes darted all around him. A hope, a warmth he had not felt in decades. The grey, black trees that were charred by evil sprung to life, golden light steamed into the forest, bird song filled his ears and flowers, hundreds of flowers surrounded him. The song grew louder and flowed within him. Legolas leant back into the lush grass within his memory, feeling them everywhere.

Then the air caught him in its thin grasp and he fell listlessly to the damp forest floor.

* * *

After a hearty breakfast of leftover stew and the last few pieces of bacon the Company was off onto the road again. Many of them were still quite grumpy from their unnerving discovery in the wee hours and were hardly in the mood for talking. Especially to the elf who hardly flushed pink from her twisted idea of a prank. The dwarves didn't look at her the same way after she had scared them witless, but they gotten what they deserved after waking her from a much needed rest

The sun was slowly reaching its zenith, warming up the crisp air and open plains that they trekked through. They had made good time out of the forest and into the open hills that stretched for miles before they rose into great peaks in the Misty Mountains.

Lostoriel grimaced as she saw the foggy peaks piercing just below the horizon line. She had always disliked this part of the journey between the east and west of middle earth. The mountains were a land of their own, with unpredictable weather, caves so deep and dark that one could easily get lost and passes so similar and yet so different that one could accidentally end up in Rohan instead of at the feet of the greenwood.

Absentmindedly she gingerly rubbed her left arm, she had had another memory of Smaug just before her watch was over. Though this time it had been different, this time the blurry shape of Thorin had been there and the song she had heard when sitting with Lady Galadriel had played in her mind.

Lostoriel sighed, she spent hours trying to figure out who the voice belonged to and what it had to do with Thorin out of all people. Her mind began to wonder about her father again and her brother, she had begun to see their faces more clearly in her memory and had realised with a sinking feeling just how much she missed them.

No one had told her what to expect should she return to the GreenWood, or Mirkwoodas she heard the Dwarves call it. She had no idea who would still be alive, or if they would take her in with open arms. The elf pushed these thoughts aside when she looked up and found herself in the wide, yellow lush country side. The land was dotted with patches of trees and worn paths that led in all directions in the long, sharp grass. They had a long way to go until they reached the mountains.

Lostoriel glanced behind her, watching as Bilbo turned once again to gaze at the distant sight of the border forests of Imladris. Every inch of his body radiated longing, he looked as if he could have bolted back into the humble valley without a second thought. And Thorin was beginning to notice. She could see his scowl and agitation from her space at the back of the column. He wasn't going to get his chance to berate the hobbit. Not today.

Instead of staring him down she walked to Bilbo, lending him a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It seems so far away now." He sighed.

Lostoriel didn't answer for a long while, sucking in a strengthening breath, she knew exactly what he meant. The peace of the valley called to her too, Elrohir and his brothers and the security of the known. But they had to move on.

Gently she turned him away, keeping an arm across his shoulders as best she could from her height. "Come. We should catch up with the rest."

"What if we go back?"

"Where?"

"To Rivendell."

Lostoriel swallowed a sticky lump in her throat, "We could. But we made a promise."

The pair paced back to the Company in silence, Lostoriel was worried about him. He had barely said a word all morning and had picked morosely at his breakfast. She hadn't failed to notice how his eyes continually glanced in the direction of Imladris.

"You're right. I will miss it though. Rivendell and the Elves." Bilbo smiled up at her, popping a thumb under his bag strap, the other clutching white-knuckled on his walking stick. "And Estel, he reminds me of myself when I was little. How long will it take Gandalf to reach us?" he hastily changed the subject.

The elf raised a surprised eyebrow, looking down at the Hobbit and then out onto the blue and grey mountains in the distance. "I'm not sure, two or three days perhaps. Depending on how fast he can track us. How so does Estel remind you of yourself?"

"Oh. Two or three days." Bilbo let out a low whistle, he had begun to enjoy the wizard's company, though he was loathe to admit it. His's face softened, an air of nostalgia fell upon them as he thought of little Estel, who had dragged him off to show him his favourite spots around the Valley.

"I was very much like him. I asked so many questions a day that my father bribed me with ginger biscuits just to get me to be quiet for a moment. Always running off to explore the Old Forest, pretending I was some knight from a fairy tale travelling on grand adventures to discover Elves and goblins and talking trees."

Lostoriel raised a surprised and perfectly arched eyebrow, "And did you?"

"No, not until now. My mother would've been most impressed with me. Going on this venture, stepping out my front door. She always said I'd find myself out in the world if I spent more time with Gandalf." He paused, his excitement dulling when he thought of his mother, his loving mum. And then of Thorin's open hostility towards him, "Do you think I've made the right choice?"

Lostoriel considered his query for a long moment, the silence carrying them over the next ridge and into a shallow valley. "I think that only you know that Bilbo, deep within your gut. Trust that feeling, it won't lead you astray." She flashed him a smile, "So tell me more about your mother, she seems like quite an adventurous hobbit."

"Oh she was."

* * *

That evening they made camp in the shadows of the mountains. The snow- capped peaks laid barely a day away and the deep, tumbling valley of the Misty Mountains stretched below them. In the hazy yellow distance of the south Lostoriel could see Caradhras's golden tip peaking from the clouds and to the North the permanent blanket of white that folded and rose with every breath of the mountains.

Lostoriel pulled at the soft piece of dried meat in her hand, whilst Bilbo bit miserably into an apple, he had been skulking since an icy wind had been blowing down from the peaks. He had not spoken much throughout the day, the comforts of BagEnd played on his mind. And soon he found himself longing for his soft bed and wanting nothing more than to be curled up in his armchair with a book in his hands.

His elven companion on the other hand seemed fixated on the delicious, heavily spiced scent of rabbit stew wafted into her nostrils and sent her stomach rumbling. She looked guilty down at her stomach that insisted on wailing like a child and instead turned her attention to Bofur who sat a little ways off from the group around the fire, studying a locket in his hand with a yearning expression on his usually happy face.

"What's got you down?"

He turned towards her, his dull eyes meeting hers, "Just thinking of those I've left at home."

Lostoriel sensed he wasn't finished and let him carry on, he held out the locket for her to see. Three miniature drawings were neatly lain in three individual frames that collapsed into each other when closed.

She studied them carefully, trying to discern each of the bearded dwarves from the other. The one to the left with a necklace on her neck must've been his wife, the other two his children.

"This here is my wife. He pointed to the middle frame," Lostoriel blanched, dwarves and their dwarrow dames looked so similar that it was difficult to tell them apart until they stood before one's eyes, "this lass Greta and my lad Brock."

"They're beautiful."

He smiled proudly, his voice sounding wistful, "Aye they are. I can't wait till I see them again. Show them the vast halls of our people."

Lostoriel handed the locket back to him, closing his fingers around it, "And you will get the chance to Bofur."

"Who do you have, to go back to?" Asked Fili around a bite of bread, forgetting his manners completely as a spray of crumbs flew from his mouth getting stuck in his short beard.

The elf sat for a moment in silence not quite sure how to answer the question, not sure if she even had anything to go back to. Finally she answered, "Just my father and brother."

"What about your mam?" Inquired Ori, his voice quiet and sombre, followed by a loud smack and muttering and then a yelp of pain from the Dwarf.

"Dori do leave him alone." Scolded Lostoriel whilst she eyed out Dori, "My mother died when I was an elfling."

Silence fell over the small company, "We didn't mean to..." began Balin from his spot at the other end of the lose circle they sat in.

Lostoriel smiled, but it never reached her eyes, "It's alright Balin. It was a long time ago."

They sensed that she didn't want to go any further. Kili came to sit with her, his knee once again digging into her side, though she didn't mind. "So you have a brother?"

"Yes I do. And older one in fact."

Fili plonked himself at her feet, leaning against her propped legs, "You're a baby sister." He sang, a hint of mischief in his voice.

"So you know what a pain in the behind older brothers can be." Kili wriggled his neatly trimmed eyebrows and kicked Fili's hand away from his leg.

"Oh so I'm the pain in your behind. Goodness! And here I was thinking that I had a ratty little brother." He ruffled his brother's hair, and flashed his eyebrows, "So it's only you two?"

As Lostoriel watched the brothers bicker her chest filled with warmth. A watery smile touched her lips and died away just as quickly when she realised just how much she missed Legolas and her other brother who she thought about everyday. She reached into her pack for her waterskin, whatever joy was on her face melted away as she answered Fili. "Now it is."

"Now?"

"We had an older cousin who grew up with us." Her voice grew soft and distant at the mention of her other big brother, her closest friend and the guilt that turned her stomach.

The brothers gave her a small smile, "What was his name?" asked Fili.

"Thalion." Lostoriel answered tightly, the sticky lump in her throat rose and threatened to pop. She hardly ever spoke about Thalion to anyone, he and she had been inseparable until the day he died. Unconsciously Lostoriel rubbed the scar on her cheek, "Who do you two have?"

The pair's smiles died down as they watched her, Kili reached into his pocket and fished out a smooth stone that he tossed about in the air, catching it with ease.

"Our mother." They answered in unison.

"And Aven." Piped up Kili, a toothy, proud grin split his beardless face apart.

"Aven?" Lostoriel turned to face them, an eyebrow already raised when she shot Fili an intrigued smile.

Kili's grin only widened as he watched Fili blush an apple shade of pink and Lostoriel's eyebrow arch in amusement.

"Oh that's just Fili's ... What did you call her brother?" Kili stroked his chin, mimicking deep thought, "Your uhmm…"

"His sunflower is it?" Cut in Nori with a smirk, "She's his betrothed."

"Oh shut up both of you." The blonde dwarf turned to Lostoriel, his eyes full of wander and love, "Aven is... She's an entire universe and then some more," Fili paused shooting mild a glare at Nori, "we are not betrothed Nori!"

Lostoriel let out a babbling laugh, the sound lightening their hearts, "Is that so? That braid in your hair suggests otherwise master Fili."

If Fili could turn a more burning shade of red he did. Now all the Dwarves were staring at them both in astonishment, half of which was because Fili had not told many of them that he was promised to her and half because Lostoriel knew of their usually safely guarded secrets. The blonde dwarf gave her a sly smirk.

"How do you know about our traditions?" he removed himself from her legs, half turning to face her, his sky-blue eyes focused on the ring on her finger. "That ring on your finger suggests otherwise Lostoriel."

The elf flushed red, her pointed ears burned beneath her hair, she was grateful that in the darkness that no one could see how red they were. "Nevermind what I know."

In a second she pulled the ring off her finger and stuck it in a hidden pocket in her bag. "What ring?"

"This one." Nori held out the intricately carved circle in his palm, his face riddled with joy. "You really shouldn't try to hide things from a saviour of forgotten items."

Quickly she grabbed it out his hand both impressed and concerned about Nori's pastime and slipped it back onto her finger, hiding it from the dwarves. "Saviour of forgotten items." She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "More like a common thief."

"I am no thief my lady. I merely give second life to lonely items. Also stop tryin' to change the subject." He winked at her to let her know he was joking.

"Aye he's right." Piped up Fili.

Bofur held her hand up to the sunlight, studying the patterns on the ring, he wriggled his eyebrows at her, "So who is he lass?"

"Must be that blonde elf who's been training you. He looked rather dashing, if I say so myself." Chimed Kili from her side, not bothering to look up whilst he checked the fletching on his arrows. Lostoriel's ears burned as she gasped horrified that they thought she was courting and no less betrothed to Glorfindel.

"Goodness no! Lord Glorfindel? He's positively ancient." She pushed the ring between her fingers, scrunching her nose as if she was surrounded by pipeweed. "He knew my mother when she was an elfling."

Kili nudged her with his elbow, "He looks young enough for you."

The elf dropped her head into her hands, trying to suppress the laugh that escaped her, "He is literally ancient Kili, I'm still a child in his eyes. No, he's more family than anything else. You're one to talk about the attractiveness of elves."

Kili blush deepened as his companions sniggered and laughed at him, he was never going to live that one down. "At least I'm not betrothed to an ancient elf."

The she-elf paled once again, the prospect of marriage had always terrified her and right now Lostoriel wasn't prepared to face the idea, "I am not betrothed to anyone. This ring belongs to an elf yes, but I don't think I'll tell you who just yet. I'm far too young for marriage."

"Really? I do recall you and one of Lord Elrond's sons spending quite a bit of time together." said Bilbo throwing the apple core behind him, he couldn't help but join in the fun. "And how old are you?"

Lostoriel rolled her eyes to the heavens, questioning, not for the first time, why she ever chose to come on this quest. She half glared at Bilbo for bringing up her age again, "Never mind that. Enough about me. What about your uncle Frerin? How come he's not here with us?" she smoothly changed the subject before they could pry any further into her personal life.

If the midday sky could darken it did and a leaden silence fell over the small group. Lostoriel realised her mistake, but it was too late. Thorin marched back into the circle, his hands clutched tightly behind his back. No one mentioned Frerin often, not even him. The pain of losing his brother was still too poignant for him to bear even after all these years. He coughed down the tears that threatened to choke him.

"Come it's time to move on. We're losing daylight." Said Thorin lowly, his eyes steely and face grim set as he slung his pack over his shoulders.

* * *

  
And so the days passed much the same as they had before, they rose before dawn to make as much headway as they could. Passing through the open plains and hills, climbing ever higher into the footholds of the Misty Mountains. The company only stopped when necessary, taking short breaks in the warm midday sun and camping from well after sunset eating nothing but meagre rations from Imladris.

It was now the fifth day of their travels, having passed over the first low mountain ranges and plains that let into the Wilderness. The rolling peaks and depthless valleys were quickly becoming clearer through the haze as the company steadily trod along the great east road. Their journey had thus far been uneventful save for the bone-chilling warg howls they heard echoing off the mountains.

Fili and Kili had spent their time questioning her on every aspect of Earth. They had been most interested in the food and fascinated by the moving pictures Lostoriel claimed were called movies. Fili thought the name was stupid, however he was more than taken with the stories she told them. Ones of great kings and children who travelled to a magical land through a wardrobe. The dwarves had listened intently as she about the technology that the earthen people used, about the cars and the massive planes that were, in Dwalin's words, basically metal birds.

Bilbo and Ori on the other hand begged her to tell them more tales and poetry from this foreign land. They had been taken by the world-renowned writer named Shakespeare and terrified of the weapons that she spoke about. And much to Lostoriel's guilt and thankfulness Thorin hadn't uttered a word to her about what had transpired in camp the other afternoon. He had however attempted to make conversation with her, which failed dismally as they both grew annoyed with the other when he brought up her presence on the Quest once again.

On this particular evening a quiet peace had settled over the company. It lasted only for a short while until the dwarves began to moan about their empty stomachs and aching feet. They had travelled well into the afternoon and now rested in a small camp just beneath a high ridge that was covered in trees. They had made significant progress over the past two days without rest. Thorin and Dwalin were happy with their progress and were now seated by the fire. Hunched over a detailed map of the Misty Mountains plotting their next move further into the heart of the mountains.

Bofur sang a merry tune about some nonsense or the other whilst he helped Oin and Gloin set fire to the kindling in the centre of their small camp. And Kili had just returned from hunting for their supper in the trees, he had proudly handed off a small, skinned deer to Bombur whilst Lostoriel passed a sackful of leafy greens to Bilbo to make a quick salad. They, or rather Bilbo would be the one to finish off the hasty salad by himself, Lostoriel had never enjoyed vegetables herself.

Lostoriel dusted her hands on her leggings before placing her bow and quiver next to her pack near Bilbo's belongings with a content sigh. She smiled fondly at the walking stick the hobbit insisted on using, it suited him and would make for a good make-shift weapon. However Fili and Kili had tried to trip her with it several times. The brothers were decidedly both amazed and jealous of her ability to stride without falter or clumsiness. As far as Lostoriel was concerned it was only a matter of time before she snapped it in half and wacked both them over the head with the pieces.

She shook that vividly satisfying thought from her mind as she passed behind Thorin and his small group of council dwarves. Fili, Balin and Dwalin all knelt around the map too, she found it fitting that it should be the crown prince of Erebor and their oldest confidants that Thorin sought wisdom from. Kili was yet to appear, having been held captive by Bombur who had him slicing the wild potatoes they had found earlier that day.

Thorin held one edge of the map down with the hilt of Orcrist, whilst Fili had the other two edges flattened under two of the multitude of knives he had buried in his clothing. Thorin pointed with the tip of a knife to a narrow path that deviated from the Great East Road and wove through a deep ravine. Lostoriel studied the map, unnoticed by the dwarves, over Dwalin's shoulder.

"If we take this path then we should make it out the mountains within the next few days." The dwarf said with a hint of nervousness in his voice. Summer was passing by quickly and already they were beginning to feel the first chills of autumn on the wind hurrying over the snowy peaks.

Balin leant back on his knees, suppressing a groan when his thigh muscles pulled in protest, "Thorin I say we go another way, that pathway leads through the Mountain Pass. I wouldn't trust it."

Dwalin nodded in agreement, levelling the irritated look Thorin gave him, "Aye Thorin it is risky, have you forgotten the legends that surround it?"

Lostoriel couldn't help but agree with the Dwarves, she knew the ancient legends surrounded that path. Of stone giants that emerged in the midst of great thunder storms and unknowingly crushed travelers as they passed through. And she had heard them once, long ago: the echoing of a thundering battle that travelled across the mountains.

"They are right Thorin. We may die trying to pass through." All four dwarves jumped at the sound of her voice, none of them had noticed her standing in the shadows behind them. She tried hide the smug smile that appeared on her face. One thing growing up in the forest had taught her, was how to remain unseen even in plain sight.

"You have been gone a long time Lostoriel. The paths of the mountain passes have since changed." To her surprise there was the barest hint of annoyance in the sincerity of his voice.

She folded her arms across her chest, rolling her eyes and forgetting the concept of erosion for a moment. The dying amber sunshine and flickering firelight casting silhouetting her behind them. "And yet I am sure that the legends haven't changed?"

Thorin's eyes hardened, he and Gandalf had sat together and discussed this before they had left Rivendell. Stonegiants or not, it was the easiest route. He pointed to a pathway leading around the Causeway or High Pass, "No one has used that road in the last sixty years. The passage was destroyed after a massive storm swept over the mountains. It would be a death-trap to attempt to traverse it now, especially since the summer storms will soon be upon us.

Thorin knelt onto the balls of his feet, "We do not have time nor lives to waste. The high pass is the quickest and most efficient way to get through the Misty Mountains. Gandalf said much the same thing. That is what we're doing."

"Alright." Was all Lostoriel said with a nod before turning towards the mouth-watering smell of roasting meat. She saw the reason behind what he said. She was loathe to admit that the dwarf was right, she really had no idea what the world was like now. All the paths and roads she knew may well be eroded and long since forgotten by now.

That and Lostoriel was far too hungry to argue with Thorin and far too wrong. Unfortunately he knew Middle Earth better than she did. One of the perks of being missing for a century, she thought wryly. But was distracted when the droplets of fat from the meat fell onto the burning wood with a hiss.

The elf's stomach growled in anticipation for the well-roasted meat that would be ready later. Had it been her cooking the meat she would've had it charred on the outside and barely ready to eat, but Bombur knew to let it cook slowly.

Lostoriel stared at the looming peaks before them, tomorrow they would pass high up into the foreboding mountains. Walking above the peaks where the snow fell like a blanket and the air was thin and crisp. Her empty stomach turned when she realised how high up they would be, Lostoriel wrapped her arms around her chest watching as the sun set behind the grey peaks. She hoped that stone giants were the only foul things that they might encounter in the heart of the mountain range.

* * *

Their tantalizing supper passed by uneventfully, save for the horrific belching and unacceptable 'table' manners of the Dwarves. Not for the first time Lostoriel understood a little of why elves disliked dwarves so much. Having being brought up in the royal court she had been accustomed to the ways of fine dining, which of course she and her troop, Legolas included, hastily disregarded as soon as they were out in the forest. The notion that elvish warriors were fine and graceful creatures was ridiculous, she smirked at the thought, and no one ever wrote a song about the ravenous appetites of her friends in the Greenwood. She was yet to hear a bard of how Legolas and the twins had once practically inhaled an entire pot of rabbit stew in the span of half an hour.

So naturally she shouldn't have been shocked when Gloin let the crumbs of the flatbread she had helped Bombur make sit idly in his amber beard. Nor when Bifur let out a resounding burp that she could smell from where she sat on the other side of the fire. Alas, she cringed as the stale scent wafted into her nose.

"A real refined lot we are." Remarked Bofur using the corner of his jerkin to wipe his mouth.

Bifur burped in agreement around string of unintelligible Dwarvish words that sprayed more food crumbs than comprehension on his companions.

Kili grinned at him, his round cheeks were stuffed with bread, "Aye Bifur, though next time we don't want to taste what you had for breakfast."

Bilbo nearly gagged at that, he had spent almost two months with these Dwarves, but their questionable table manners made him want to run back into BagEnd and firmly lock the door behind him. Lostoriel snorted a most unladylike snort when she noticed how his nose twitched on his screwed up face. Which further scrunched up when he heard her snort next to him and proceeded to laugh at his expression.

It was Fili's turn to speak, though he had no food in his mouth and his clothing remained unstained, save for a few travel stains here and there. He smiled wryly at her from across the small fire, "Apologies for our impeccable manners my lady."

Lostoriel opened her mouth to tell him that she had encountered worse when Ori belched something horrendous and she let her head fall into her hands.

"You don't have to be so ladylike around us you know." Came Bofur's voice from beneath his floppy hat. "We know you're just as hungry as we are."

The she-elf calmly set down the wooden bowl she had been eating from, she wiped her mouth with the end of her sleeve. "Trust me, you don't want me to." There was a hint of warning in her voice, though Lostoriel was sure that she could hear Galion and her father begging her to eat like a princess would. And not like a ravenous wolf.

"Don't you worry Bofur, you'll find out soon enough about the appetites of travelling elves." Balin sauntered around the camp fire, collecting their bowls and utensils. Tonight was his and Dori's turn to clean the supper dishes, he was a seasoned traveler, but his old bones urged him to return to the fire relax each time he bent down to collect their dishes.

Lostoriel rolled her eyes at the wriggling eyebrows Bofur sent her way, they had first spent the entire day taking wagers on her age, now she had no doubt that the next one would be on how long it would take a "refined", she used the word liberally, princess such as herself to go feral.

Lazily the elf undid the end of the long, single plait she had twisted her hair into that morning. It began tightly at the top of her head and tickled the tip of her waist. Ori had wanted to begin sketching her portrait tonight and she supposed that she should appear somewhat presentable for the young scribe.

However that only happened much later into the night long after some of the dwarves had lulled into a deep sleep around the fire. The night was clear for the most part, hazy grey clouds scudded across the navy sky and a warm breeze had settled into the summer night. The company had found themselves tucked into their bedrolls next to the fire, there would be no need for the squat tents they carried.

Slowly they all drifted off after their re-moralising supper with only a handful of them sat wide awake chatting aimlessly by the fireside. Bilbo rested his stout legs on Lostoriel's outstretched ones as he reclined against the log he was using as a backrest. His hands were folded on his chest whilst his attention was focused on the story Fili and Kili were theatrically telling him. The brother's had taken an instant liking to him and the trio had made this a regular pastime during their journey. Tonight they recalled a hair-raising tale of a supposed ghost that still haunted the plains outside Erebor. He thought it was absolute hogwash and yet the icy tendrils of fear that played in his mind and the hairs that stood at the back of his neck begged to differ.

Lostoriel paid them little heed as she sat facing the glowing firelight with Ori's sketchbook open on her knees and said dwarf sat cross-legged in front of Bilbo hastily sketching on the parchment in front of him. He had done more than enough work for the night and had her face drawn out in detail within two hours, all he needed to do was add shadow to the drawing and he'd be done.

The elf had made an easy subject to draw, Lostoriel had sat their quiet and still as a mouse, paging through the crisp pages of the record book he was keeping for the duration of their Quest. Lostoriel was mesmerised by the impressive skill and talent that Ori possessed. He had done detailed drawings of each of the dwarves, every hair on their heads had been drawn with absolute precision and care. But what had taken her breath away were the sketches he had done of Imladris

She lightly traced her fingers over a serene drawing of an elf dancing beneath one of the many waterfalls in Imladris. A small smile touched her lips as she imagined the Noldorian twirling about under the spray of the water. The elf must have been one of the scarce younger elves who dwelt in the haven city full of positively ancient and retired warriors.

Her smile widened when she turned the page to find a series of detailed pieces scattered across a double page, of herself. These, she realised, was what Ori had been working on that day on the training fields. He captured Glorfindel and her sparring with each other in a whirlwind of movement. Their swords depicted as nothing more than whirring lines floating around them.

Turning the page her heart leapt in her chest as the firelight illuminated a sketch of Elrohir resting against a tree in Lady Celebrain's garden. He had captured every last detail of the elf, from the small beauty spot just below his right eye to the way his forehead creased when he rested. Lostoriel had begun to miss him, they had had so little time together and now…

Lostoriel pushed the thought aside, she had told him that she loved him but the elleth wasn't sure if she was ready to simply pick up this part of her life from where it had ended. She mused on the image for some time until Fili's low, hasty voice cut into her thoughts.

"And they say that all they found of the elf was a cloak lying dis-guarded as the dwarves fled the mountain, charred and ripped to shreds." His voice held an air of mystery about it and no small amount of fear. The story his brother and he had been telling Bilbo was one that Dwalin had told them on many occasions to get them to stay indoors or more often than not. To get them to behave, saying that the shadow of the mountain would come to take them away if they didn't listen to their mother.

Whatever mirth and comfort Lostoriel had felt died away when she heard Fili's voice and the next words that left Kili's mouth.

"Aye Bilbo, some call her the wraith of the mountain. She who walks unseen beneath the moon, who had been burnt so terribly by Smaug that she was near unrecognisable. It's said that if you look carefully enough you can still see where the dragon scarred her. And that if you did the image would stay in your head forever. It's said that people have been driven mad by it." Kili smirked mischievously at this, he knew it was just a tall tale that Dwalin had constructed, however he also knew that it was told around a certain amount of truth.

And for the duration of their journey would wish that he and his brother had been wiser that night.

Lostoriel's heart dropped to her stomach, the first half of the tale had been amusing to listen to. They had first recounted an exaggerated and nearly impossible battle between Smaug and herself which she had found amusing. Now she down-turned her gaze and attempted to block out the stinging pain that flared across the left of her body. Lostoriel squeezed her brows together as she tried her hardest to remember what Glorfindel had told her about controlling her memories. About not letting what she felt increase the emotion as it poured back into her mind.

It was the slight tingling that pulled at his skin that knocked into Thorin's consciousness. Then it was the swooping, horrific face of Smaug that beat his ginormous wings sending gold and treasure flying in all directions. The dragon found footing on a pair of staircases, his talons easily crushing the emerald stone between his toes as he bent lowly and blew a massive wall fire in his face that caused Thorin to jump and wake up to an intense silence that had sunk over the camp.

His companions stood or sat wearily where they were previously asleep. Their eyes were wide with fear, he swore he could hear their hearts pounding in his ears. Maybe it was just his. That had been no dream. Nor had it been a vision.

"Wha' was that?" Dwalin was the first to find his voice which was no more than a whisper for directed at Lostoriel's back. As he watched them Thorin noticed the sheet, white faces of his nephews, Ori and Bilbo who all sat stock still. Petrified and staring fearfully at the elf before them.

Bilbo hadn't expected to see that. He hadn't realised that Lostoriel would take to the story in such a way. His brain refused to believe what his eyes showed it. The human, monstrously scarred face that stared back at him. One eye almost completely white, the other perfectly normal. Rivers and mountains of burns that had never healed, breathing under her skin. Stretching down to her neck and shoulders, her hand was skeletal, he swallowed the bile that had climbed up his throat. He could see the tendons and scarred flesh over her cheek and her fingers.

The once mesmerising elf was now as she truly was. No magic concealed her scars. The three dwarves and hobbit recoiled in horror. Guilt swam in Kili and Fili's stomach. They had no idea of what she had been through. Of what had transpired in that mountain until now.

Lostoriel tentatively rose from her spot, turning in a slow circle to face the rest of the dwarves. Her head hung low, her hands trembling. Shame. Fear. That was what she felt heat her cheeks and withdraw into herself, her voice was lost no more than a faint whisper on the wind. She had let no one see her burns, not even Elrohir who knew they were there but had been too afraid to ask her about them. Only Lord Elrond had seen them and for the sole reason of her needing a draught for the pain.

The scars of her failure. She had covered the mirrors in the small house she had stayed in. She had worn a hood over her head for months on end until she was strong enough to use what elven power she had left to mask them. A hundred years and she had lived her life as if that day had never happened. And now she was exposed. Vulnerable.

No, she thought, this time there would be no fear. No shame. No unwillingness to let them see the monster they had written into legend. Lostoriel met their eyes, fire blazing over what trepidation she had felt before. This is what their greed had brought upon her, this is what selfish ambition had wrought in the depths of their mines. And she had lost a part of herself in their kingdom.

"I thought it was only legend." Piped up Dori, his brows pushed together as he clutched his heart, absentmindedly making a sign to ward off evil.

"How is that possible?" Their questions hung unanswered in the weighty air.

Lostoriel lifted her chin, her face set in grim lines as she looked at them down her slender nose. "That was the price of greed."

Without missing another beat she strode into the forest, bristling with fury and embarrassment that swelled in her chest, sitting over her lungs like an oliphant.

Thorin couldn't meet her eyes as she turned, he couldn't bear to look at her. Her blood was on his hands. He knew that. He knew that from the moment he heard her unnatural scream the day Smaug had attacked Erebor. Her cry for help had rung endlessly in his ears for months after that. As they travelled into the Wilderness all he could hear and see was the fire, the flash of orange silver as she brandished her sword and the ragged cloak one of his men had brought from the mountain.

He did not have any way of knowing whether she remembered that. What he had done. But deep within his mind Thorin knew that he would have to ask for her forgiveness. No matter the increasing rivalry between their people. Inhaling deeply he made to follow her, but was stopped when Balin tightly clutched his arm, shaking his head.

"No lad. Let her be." Said his old companion, warning and sorrow set deeply within his round, chestnut eyes.

Respect floated in their eyes as they stared at her, all had taken an involuntary step backwards when the elf faced them full on. The dancing firelight casting strange shadows on her scarred face. However Lostoriel failed to see the newfound awe they reflected for her, the elf who had fought a dragon to protect their kingdom.

She only saw the wide eyes. The horror and revile. Perhaps she was just the monster that Kili had described. Beneath all the magic and weaponry she was an ethereal elf no longer. No longer a princess, no longer human. She was a myth. A creature sung of in fairy tales that children feared. A wrestles shadow supposedly roaming about Erebor who didn't know the home she returned to.

Lostoriel would have laughed at the pure insanity of it all, had it not been for their fright. So instead she did what she knew best and flicked her cowl over her head somberly trudging into the forest.


	12. Of Legends and Rivarly

That night the company knew no sleep, they lay under the cloudy night sky, still as the night itself remembering the day Smaug came. The leaden silence had them sullenly poking at the fire and Balin recalling stories from his childhood in Erebor with his brother in a vain attempt to lighten the weariness that had fallen over his younger companions.

Fili and Kili however had never been more frightened in their short lives. Lostoriel had for one given them an image that burned into their minds and they had quickly learnt that some nightmares truly did exist. But that, unexpectedly, was not what caused them to shuffle restlessly in their bed rolls and blankets next to the dying fire.

Thorin had been much too quiet and much to calm after what they had done. He had levelled them with a serenity in his icy blue eyes equal to that of a satisfied wolf that had his prey easily cornered. And growing up with their uncle they knew that that was merely the calm before the storm.

Now in the grey dawn light he crouched behind their heads, allowing himself to admire his beautiful sister's sons before sighing as if the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders. He wished that he didn't have to do this, however he knew that they had to learn this lesson and weather the consequences.

Thorin bent down a lower, "Up." the command was so low and deep that the brothers immediately woke with a start. Their uncle finally allowed a scowl to line his features. The boys, they were still his boys in Thorin's eyes, expected their ears to be twisted or at the very least to feel Thorin's hands pulling them to their feet. None of that came and it terrified them.

Their uncle breathed out one last order to follow him and had then led them into the trees. Then all hell broke out upon them.

"Of all the things you two have done this is the most idiotic of them all!" was the shout that startled many of the dwarves from their sleep and sent the birds flying from the treetops in a hurry. And one elf nearly tumbling from the branch she was resting on.

Lostoriel pulled her sword back onto her lap just before it dropped to the ground and righted herself on the thick upper branch of the young tree she had been asleep in. she had wandered aimlessly around the forest for hours, staring at her left hand in disgust as she did so. Their inquisitive and fearful scares had made her feel like a monster, like a strange creature on display. And yet there was something powerful in having shown them her scars, some unspoken confidence that radiated from within her. Lostoriel had passed into legend, she had become more than just an elf. And her scars were proof of her courage, though she felt none now.

"Please, tell me what on this good green earth possessed you two to tell that particular fable to Master Baggins? What suddenly made it alright to speak of _that_ in front of the elf who the story is based on?" Thorin's voice rose steadily and cutting through her thoughts as he reprimanded his nephews who stood incredibly still as their uncle paced back and forth in front of them.

"You're both lucky that Lostoriel didn't kill you in the spot for that." At this the elf nearly laughed, she had no intentions of killing them or harming the young dwarves. Unlike her WoodLand kin, she didn't think she ever could. Lostoriel studied them closely, listening to the similar, slightly lilting way they spoke and how Fili and Kili mirrored the tall, confident stance that Thorin stood in. If she hadn't known that Thorin was their uncle she would've thought they were his sons.

"You're young and naive yes, but I and more importantly your mother and father raised you both to be wiser and less stupid than this." Suddenly Lostoriel felt like she was intruding on their private conversation. Beneath her hands she felt the tree rumble, it was laughing at her. "Oh be quiet would you? No need to wake up the entire forest." She hissed at the tree, having forgotten that she had accidentally woken it during the night.

"Uncle we-" began Kili, his tired eyes staring at his boots.

"I don't care Kili. I do not care if you meant or did not mean any harm from that story. I do not care if you told it to scare Master Baggins witless. What I care about is why, why on earth you both thought it appropriate?"

"Thorin." Fili made to step forward, but thought better.

"I'm not done." he said lowly. Thorin stood at an angle, pointing in the direction of the woods behind them. His expression darkened, "You do understand that she is the reason many of our people are alive today? That Lostoriel made sure your mother and I made it out of the mountain in time?

'Not only that, but, you," he gave Fili a pointed look, "as the future crown Prince you should know better. And you," he turned to face Kili, "as my heir should know better too. When she returns to camp I expect you both to apologise to her. The hatred between our people may run deep, but we owe her much and from now on it would do us good to show her that."

Lostoriel's eyebrows quirked up, astonished at the sincerity of his voice. If she was being honest the elf thought that he hated her, but this. This was unexpected and it sent a warmth flowing through her chest, the Thorin she knew was still there. Beneath all that stoic pretence and anger, the dwarf she had once known was there and was willing, however little that will may be, to make amends.

As the words left his mouth Thorin realised that he meant them. He still wasn't pleased with her joining them, but he knew when the time came that she would play an important role in their tale. The dwarf faced his nephews, Fili thought he could the fires of hell dimming in his eyes. The soft, caring demeanour of their beloved uncle came over him once more, though the sternness of his jaw dictated their next move.

The brother's met their uncle's weary eyes, answering in unison, "We're sorry Uncle."

"We meant no harm to her." Kili's downcast expression nearly melted Thorin's steely heart as it had in the past. He met Kili's warm brown eyes, his sister's eyes, and saw no falsehood in them. Only regret and the slightest twinge of fear lurking behind them. "All those tales we heard growing up, the ones of the wraith that haunts the mountain's shores, they aren't real right? We haven't just…?"

Thorin let a wide reassuring grin break over his grim face, enjoying the quiet moment of solitude with his nephews. "You have seen no ghost, if that is what you're asking Kili. Lostoriel is as real as daylight."

A loud cough sent all three of them jumping and Lostoriel hopped lightly from a tree branch behind Fili. The tree flicked its leafy tipped branch once more, as if it were saying farewell, before straightening into place amongst its brothers and sisters.

"I'm not a ghost Kili, if I were I'd chose more interesting dwarves to haunt." Her tone was light, but her eyes brimmed with sleeplessness and apprehension.

Fili and Kili were galvanised into action. Immediately crowding around her and rushing into their apologies. Wanting nothing more than to win back the affection of their new companion.

"We' ." Kili paused inhaling deeply, his cheeks a bright shade of red.

Fili elbowed Kili, shaking his head in exasperation at his little brother's tendency to attempt to catch lightening with the speed of his words. Kili had always been that way when he felt guilty. Their mother had tried to help him slow down, but unless they were dealing with a diplomatic issue Kili's words left his mouth before his brain had time to process what he was saying. Lostoriel took half a step back, losing track of what Kili was saying halfway through his hurried apology.

Fili, the more composed one of the two finished off. "We ask only your forgiveness. Our family and importantly our people are indebted to you." Fili looked up into her eyes, his expression soft, "You are no monster. History may have turned you into one, but we see you differently and hope you would too see us that way too."

Lostoriel took a tentative step forward, already she felt the pressure behind her eyes building. And the tears waiting to spill, but none came. That night she had let them fall freely after many years of not letting herself feel anything towards her damaged body. She gave them a wane smile.

"I forgive you both." The elf placed her hands on their shoulders, the same as Thorin had. "Thank you. Know that I hold no anger nor resentment towards either of you." Lostoriel almost cringed how formal she sounded, "I hope that I did not scare you too much and that we can carry on as we were. Admittedly I've enjoyed your company."

"Really now?" Fili asked, arching a blonde eyebrow as they made their way back to camp.

"Okay perhaps I lied." She jostled his shoulder, looking over him to Thorin who was at the edge of the woods and lowered his head. Lostoriel mirrored the gesture, the unspoken understanding passing between them louder than words.

The elf stood dumbfounded. She looked down into his eyes and saw no lie in them, instead she saw gratefulness. Lostoriel grasped his arm, lowering her head, not willing to trust her voice as her throat tightened.

* * *

Lostoriel shrugged off the cowl of her cloak, wiping away the beads of sweat that had trickled down her forehead. The sun had reached its zenith and the elf had to squint into the distance to see the snowy peaks below them. The mountains below them seemed to roll on forever. Dipping and rising high into the clear air and stretching beyond the blurry horizon line. The Company had spent the morning trekking up through the forest land and up onto a steadily rising plateau that quickly rose into a range of grey mountains which clawed into the sky.

At this altitude they should have been freezing, but the heat had sunk deep into their clothing. Warming their toes and making the dwarves' beards uncontrollably frizzy. More than once had each of the dwarves grumbled under their thick moustaches about the elf's hair which barely moved out of place in her perfect braid. Even when the wind picked up and brought snowflakes from the lower escarpments, the flurries only caused her to seem ethereal and made their envy for her elven hair stronger.

A quick flurry of movement beside her caught her eye. He looked at her for the fifth time in a minute. Thousands of questions burning in his eyes. Bilbo opened his mouth to speak but shut it firmly, thinking that he should leave her at peace.

The hobbit had been racking the elf for answers to all his questions about elves all morning. He had intended to ask Lord Elrond, but whenever he tried to his tongue knotted itself up and forgot how to work. The hobbit had also tried to speak to the twins and gave up after they assailed him with contradicting statements, playing into the old saying that elves will always answer both yes and no.

Now he had his chance. He , Fili and Kili had been circling her like vultures with questions, absurd and rather annoying questions about elves.

Lostoriel caught Bilbo looking at her again, deciding that the halfling was never going to get the words out his mouth she turned to him. Cocking her head to the side like a wolf before it lunged at its prey. The hobbit looked as if he might burst from the curiosity bubbling within him.

"I suggest you air out your question before you pop Bilbo."

He jumped, having not expected her to catch him unaware. Suddenly he felt guilty, the dwarves had already tried and failed to get her to answer the question. But he wasn't giving up so easily.

"Are you really not going to tell us how old you are?"

The elf assumed a long- suffering gaze, "Is it that important to all of you to know how old I am?"

Fili and Kili smirked at each other, "Yes."

The elf turned a withering gaze on the dwarf brothers walking behind them. They knew that they were getting under her skin and fully intended on ruffling her feathers.

"Well you see..." began Fili.

"For all we know you could be a child." Added Kili with a wide grin.

"Or as ancient as our grandmother."

Again she shot them a glare over her shoulder, her long braid nearly whipping Kili in the face. "I'm not a child, nor am I old enough to be a grandmother. "

Their grins only widened, "So you're somewhere in between then..." said Fili, scratching his bearded chin thoughtfully. "You must be around our age."

"My wager's that you were born in the third age." Called Bofur with a grin.

Gloin beside him turned to examine the elf, sizing her up. Taking in her green and brown cloak, the leather jerkin and deep brown leggings that slipped into her boots where he knew a knife or two would be hidden. Beneath all the weaponry and her fiery eyes was an ancient being, one who had seen more in her long life than he had. Now that Gloin thought about it she was actually older than him. Studying her fair, sun-kissed and high cheek boned face, he saw that Lostoriel was young and strode with the buoyancy and confidence that oozed from the youth. She looked no older than his young son Gimli, who had not yet come of age, and yet, swimming in the sky of her eyes was the unmistakeable glow of old age. Of one who had seen much toil and suffering.

For all he knew this elf could be as old as the sun itself. The thought unsettled him to his bones. He nodded his head a few times, his bright ginger hair catching the light, "I'd say first age."

Lostoriel remained impassive, though inside she was gasping indignantly and wondering if she really did look that old. Her father was old. Lord Elrond was older. And Glorfindel was practically ancient. She was foolhardy, stubborn and irritable, but one thing she was not was old. "I'm still not telling you."

Bifur commented in a rumble of Khuzdul, his gruff words causing the elf's eyebrows to shoot into her forehead. Bombur caught her confusion before she could ask about his cousin's speech problem. "He says that we shouldn't trust a word you're saying." Piped up the cook.

"Is that so?." Then her head cocked to the side, brushing the insult aside, "Tell me, does he always speak Khuzdul?"

"Oh that'll be the axe." Said Bofur pointing to a spot on his forehead, "Mind you, he can understand what you're saying."

"If you're so insistent on remaining ageless we'll tell you how old we are." Kili grinned. And still the elf said nothing as Fili and Kili triumphantly told them their respective ages of eighty two and seventy seven. Lostoriel was not impressed, she raised a surprised eyebrow having expected Kili to be younger. To her they were young, almost children in her aged eyes.

Finally Bilbo sighed resigned to the fact that she wasn't ever going to tell them, "Well if you won't tell us your age then will you at least tell us when your birthday is?"

Her ears were slowly turning a satisfying shade of pink, but she wouldn't budge. Her grip on her bow tightened just as her stomach did. Lostoriel didn't enjoy talking about her age. She never had.

Her lips tightened into a thin line, she rolled her eyes. Making a show of her exasperation. That was one thing she actually did know, though they didn't need to know that. Not yet.

"It's sometime in the winter." Came her clipped reply. The dwarves had begun to march along the trail now, but most of them were still unsatisfied with her answer. Lostoriel turned her gaze to the horizon, ignoring the hushed conversation going on beside her.

"Almost dumped me in the moat for asking." Mumbled Thorin under his breath. It was a shout in Lostoriel's ears.

"I'm sorry, what was that Thorin?"

The dwarf halted, his shoulders squaring. He hadn't thought she'd be able to hear it. "Nothing. Let's keep moving." He could feel her icy glare eating into his back.

"Good. That's what I thought."

"You don't know do you?" smirked Bilbo

Lostoriel ignored the hobbit. Her face set into grim lines. All that to mask the truth that she didn't know how old she was. She had never needed to know, her father and brothers had kept track of that. And she still had no intentions of doing so. But Bilbo was no fool, the reddening at the tips of her ears gave her away.

"How come?"

She sighed, "Many elves stop counting their years after a few centuries. Time just flows within itself for us. Days turn into months like the tide on the shoreline and eventually we lose track." The elf shrugged, "Age is wistful as winter frost on the grass."

Bilbo was taken back by her matter-of-fact tone. Lostoriel had known many elves who couldn't remember what day it was, let alone what the year was. But to Bilbo and the Dwarves this was bewildering. The ways of the fair folk were elusive and uninteresting to them, yet this was a matter that caused them to stop in their tracks.

"How old were you when you stopped counting?" asked FIli his eyebrows raised.

Again Lostoriel shrugged, trying her best to look indifferent, "Around two thousand, give or take a few years."

The elf choose to ignore the amused snort that came from Thorin. He had asked her the same question when he was younger and had nearly been thrown into several dangerous places around Erebor. Ever since he had reprimanded his nephews, the tension between them had somewhat eased. However the dwarves were still weary around her, unsure of how to speak to her or what to say as the discomfort of what they saw continually played on their minds.

An eerie silence passed over the dwarves, "It can't be possible. You don't look a day over twenty!" Exclaimed Dori from behind Fili.

"Thank you Dori." She grinned, flashing her eyebrows at Bilbo, "I'm still not telling you."

The hobbit frowned, his curiosity was slowly getting the better of him.

"So, you must have been born around the start of the Second Age then?" asked Bofur, adding to his earlier assumption. Lostoriel had to do a double take of the dwarf who spun his hat on his fingers. He looked odd to her with a head of flat, mousy brown hair and that annoying toothy grin on his face.

Lostoriel pulled her hood back over her head, nodding to him as several sacks of gold were thrown between the dwarves. She stood dumbfounded, "You lot took bets on my age?"

This time it was Dwalin who turned a smug smile to her, "We've taken several bets lass."

"I don't think lass is the correct term to use here Dwalin." Piped up Bilbo as a small sack of gold fell through his fingers and landed several paces behind him.

"You were in on it too?" the elf was, not for the first time, mystified by the sneakiness of hobbits. She turned her withering gaze on him, "And here I thought I had an ally."

"Of course I was on it." Laughed Bilbo, remaining un-withered, "You didn't think I'd let them have all the fun now did you?"

Lostoriel turned her eyes to the heavens, sighing and wondering if she'd ever hear the end of this one.

That evening they settled into a large cave halfway down the bleak mountain range after trudging along the treacherous cliffs and pathways. The dwarves had risked a fire near the back of the cave and a pot of rich rabbit stew bubbled happily over the fire.

The company had settled in for the night as Lostoriel took the first watch. The elf lay on her back on the large, flat outcropping of rock outside the cave. Her cloak sprawled out beneath her, quiver strapped to her hip and her bow held loosely across her stomach. In her deep blue eyes shimmered the light of millions of blazing stars. Tillion had long since begun his race into the navy sky and Eärendil shone brightly above her, Lostoriel smiled imagining them dancing around the brilliant lights in the darkness.

Heavy footsteps roused her from her wonderings, but she did not stir. The only sign that she was awake was the steady rising and falling of her chest. The heavy breathing which accompanied the footsteps and the faint scent of wood smoke and pine told her it was Thorin.

"I thought you might be hungry." He said gruffly, holding out a bowl of stew and a mug of what she thought was tea. Lostoriel rose, sitting cross-legged as she took the wooden bowl and cup from him nodding her thanks.

Thorin bowed his head slightly, turning to return to the warmth of the cave when something stopped him. Lostoriel seemed to sense this, twisting body to face him.

"Would you like to join me?" she asked with no hint of guile in her voice. Truthfully she was surprised that it was Thorin who brought her supper and that he wanted to speak to her. Lostoriel had assumed they weren't on speaking terms and were content with ignoring the other's existence. Or at least she thought, that was until she had revealed her scars.

"I know for a fact that you know the date of your birthday." He smirked, wincing slightly as his muscles ached as he sat down beside her. He was getting too old for this sort of travel.

Lostoriel took an appreciative sip of the hot liquid, feigning a look of innocence, "And I also know that your nephews would greatly enjoy the story of how you slipped into the moat the day you found out."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh believe me I would Thorin." She laughed at his fearsome tone and wide eyes. The light sound caused Thorin's heart to flutter, "It would be most amusing, I'm sure they'd enjoy the part where you forgot how to swim."

"I did not forget how to swim, you just pushed me into the deepest part! And the bit where your father gave you a mouthful that would've made my grandmother blush." He said seriously, watching as her face contorted into horror, but the puff of laughter that followed betrayed him.

"Moats are the same depth Thorin." Lostoriel laughed along with him, barely able to swallow the stew in her mouth. The pair lapsed into a comfortable silence, enjoying the peace of the dark night around them. Thorin found himself staring up at the dimly shining elf, discreetly studying her familiar and mesmerizing features, remembering how much he had missed her company.

Little did he know Lostoriel did the same, for this moment the pair were old friends again recalling the mischief they had gotten up to in his youth. Though the elf did not look at him with the same softness in her eyes. Her affections belonged to an elf far away, who she knew would be staring up at the stars as she did now.

"He fell." Thorin broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper, he knew that she would hear him anyway. She couldn't find the right words to comfort her old friend, so instead Lostoriel

"Frerin." He coughed away the growing lump in his throat. He hardly ever spoke of Frerin around anyone else except his sister, Dwalin and his nephews. Thorin had let Frerin quietly live in his memory, but hardly ever in his words. "He fell after the battle of Moria."

"The battle of Moria? I don't recall it."

"Aye you won't. It was after the dragon fell. My grandfather thought it wise to take back Moria, thinking that we would have a place to call home again. But it was folly, the pale orc led a legion of orcs against us." Thorin paused for breath, unsure of whether he should carry on or not. Lostoriel nodded encouragingly, tucking her knees to her chest as she listened to him recount the horrific battle of Azanulbizar.

Of how he had faced down the Pale Orc in single combat and earned the name Oakenshield after defending himself with nothing but an oaken branch. Her heart froze for a moment when he told her of the massive casualties, of the ten who had barely survived and of the loss of his grandfather, father and brother. He had watched them die, his father he believed was still alive, but his brother. He had held his younger brother's body in his hands and wept for that was the first time he hadn't been there to protect Frerin. To make sure he got home.

"He never made it home." She gazed sorrowfully into his eyes. Lostoriel recalled Thorin's lively, mischievous little brother, he was still a boy when she had met him. And that was how she saw him now, how Thorin saw him. Young and full of life.

"I... Thorin. I'm so sorry." The elf laid a hand on his shoulder, the movement was awkward, yet it felt so natural to them both, "if I had known I wouldn't have -"

Thorin gently squeezed her hand, "Do not apologise, it was a very long time ago and you had no idea."

"Did you take back Moria?" she changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on the subject of death any longer.

"No, the pale orc's army decimated our forces, our dead were beyond anything we had seen before. Frerin was one of many who gave their lives. Lives that could've been saved had your kin in Lothlorien aided us."

Lostoriel scoffed at his accusing tone, the snide remark sat achingly on her tongue. An overriding sense and disgust settled into her stomach and made her blood boil, "I can understand your distaste for my kin for not aiding you. However I do not understand why you hate elves with such vigour now." She faced him full on, "I remember a young dwarf Prince who once sat with the ElvenKing himself and conversed about the growing feud between our people and how we can end it. What changed you?"

Thorin was silent for an endless moment, taken back by her tirade He suppressed the nagging irritation in his mind, "Your noble and fair kin left us to die on the battle field. Your father who watched Erebor burn and..."

The dwarf felt the anger disappear from and swallowed the nauseating guilt that rose to his throat.

"My father didn't watch Erebor burn, surely he helped?" Lostoriel shot up and paced back and forth, not wanting to believe what she was being told. A part of her knew it was because her father had faced a dragon before and wouldn't risk the lives of their people. But to let them suffer without aid? To let them die? That was not the Adar she knew.

"He didn't. He marched back into your forest like a coward and turned my people away when we sought shelter." Spat Thorin as he rose, his arms across his chest.

"Do not speak ill of the elf to rekindle relations between our people." Lostoriel joined him on her feet, anger all but oozing from her.

"And you, stop defending the wrong doings of yours." He strode towards his voice a harsh half shout.

"The wrong doings?" She asked indignantly, her voice rising an octave as she stood her ground. "Wrong doings? If I am not mistaken it was your people who lied to us to gain more gold and rightly led to the dragon attacking!"

"And if I'm not mistaken, it was you who failed to defeat the dragon that took our home!" Thorin inhaled sharply, his nostril's flaring as he clenched his hand from the hilt of his sword. He hadn't realised he'd been holding it until now. He met Lostoriel's eyes with a fire that could've burned down the mountainside.

How dare he? She thought to herself, his words stung her deeper than any piercing from a blade. She held his gaze unwaveringly, his nose inches from her own. Lostoriel reached to her sides for her blades but hesitated when Balin appeared and firmly placed himself between them. The company watched anxiously from the entrance to the cave after they had heard the shouting.

"Would you two stop acting like children and move on from what has been done?" he stared unwaveringly at them both, "Yes, our people have had a great rift torn between them. But we are cold, we are miserable and I for one am tired of your insistent bickering. Just for one night can you two not go head to head? We need to get out of these mountains as quickly as possible and we will. Whether it be by you leading or it be with me kicking both your behinds to Erebor myself!" Balin was chilled to the bone, annoyed that they had disturbed his sleep and furious with the two royals who had been arguing the same argument for the past month.

A heavy, uncomfortable silence settled over the pair as they suddenly found interest in their boots. Balin was a kind and loving soul, but when pushed he was a bear ready to kill. Lostoriel and Thorin looked down in shame, reminding Balin of a pair of ill-behaved dwarflings. The old dwarf huffed tiredly, turning a fierce gaze on them both.

"Sorry Balin." Came their coughed replies, both were pink in the face and both were unwilling to meet his eyes. Good, he thought wryly, that'll teach them to act so foolishly.

"Right then!" Balin adjusted his belt buckle and pulled up his cowl. "If you're done I'm going to bed."

Lostoriel squared her shoulders, every inch of her body livid and seething with anger. She dropped her dagger into Thorin's lap, "You can finish my watch." The elf turned and followed Balin back into the warmth of the cave.

* * *

Three days later they had finally descended from the soaring heights of the inner mountains and trekked across the vast plains wedged in between the colossal giants that loomed in the heart and end of the Misty Mountains. The dwarves and Bilbo were grateful to be on the lower ground once again, dwarves had never much had a love for great heights. Being more accustomed to the mighty stone caverns that lay beneath the mountains. And the hobbit was relieved to be on solid ground where he could trip and fall all he wanted without crashing to his death.

The rain and wind mercilessly beat down upon them in the deep ravine they were struggling to travel through. The dwarves mumbled and groaned about their soaked boots and numb fingers. In the fury of a storm that they were caught in. Lostoriel was at the head of the column trying to find them a safe way to make it across the treacherous mountain range. The footpath appeared and disappeared every few forty metres and her light, elven stride was slipping on the wet stone. Hastily she pulled her cowl over her head, and blindly clung onto the stone on her left as a gust of wind tore through the ravine.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest and her limbs were shaking uncontrollably. Earlier in the day Thorin had begrudgingly asked her to lead them through the winding valley. Hoping that her elven senses would be able to lead them through the unforgiving, slippery terrain would get them to the other side, alive and uninjured. Now Lostoriel was afraid she wouldn't getting them anywhere safe and dry anytime soon. Anxiously she gulped, staring down the drop to the river swirling dangerously below them. The massive columns of sharp rock that jutted out the grey water would skewer them.

Lostoriel turned back to the path, blinking back raindrops that had seeped from her hair and into her eyes. It had been steadily raining for days now. And the entire company, including their infallible elf were thoroughly miserable. The rain had been a welcomed change from the summer heat, but had quickly become a nuisance. Their well-oiled cloaks were soaked to the fibre, their hair was matt and knotted and with every step Lostoriel winced as her drenched socks made a horrid squelching sound.

The company were spread closely on a narrow ledge on one side of a deep valley. Thunder and lightning filled the navy, almost black sky overhead. The ledge was slippery and difficult to follow. One false step, one stumble over a lose rock and they would be falling over the cliff down into the ravine where the river ran swiftly below them. The company cautiously stepped along the footpath, their hands running along the rock face to their left or holding tightly to the other so that they wouldn't fall.

"Hold on!" shouted Thorin over the thunder that roared above them, the wind tore around the slick rock threatening to blow them away whilst the heavy rains rode it like a battle horse and pummelled them from all directions.

Lostoriel squinted into the blanket of rain in front of them, the path led on clearly for the next twenty metres or so before it curved around the mountainside. "This way!" She called over the roaring of the thunder.

She could not see anything beyond that point in the darkness. Her stomach flipped, her instincts screamed that there was something was amiss. She just didn't know what. The elf fancied that through the monstrous thunder that she could hear a heartbeat. Or more feel it under her palm as she touched the rock beside her. She dismissed the thought with a smirk, legends were just legends.

A loud yell sounded over the thunder, Lostoriel whipped, her grey hood falling from her head as she saw Bilbo stumble forwards. Her heart leapt in her chest. She was too far down the line of dwarves for her to save him.

"I've got you!" Dwalin roughly shouted over the storm as he and Bofur pulled Bilbo back by his arms. Lostoriel released a shaky breath she hadn't known she'd been holding as Thorin yelled that they needed to find shelter.

Stating the obvious a bit thickly there aren't we? She thought to herself, pushing her hair away from where it plastered thickly over her eyes. They had barely moved on when faintly under her left palm she felt a steady beating. Not quite a heartbeat, but there was something about the mountain. Something alive. She barely finished the thought when there was a resounding cracking sound from above.

"Watch out!" screamed Dwalin as a boulder flew across the grey sky and collided with the mountainside above them. Shattering into hundreds of chunks that showered onto the company as they pressed themselves against the rock-wall, using their bodies to shield each other. Instinctively Thorin pulled Lostoriel backwards by her waist and crouched over her. Using his torso to shield her from the rock-shower.

For all his gallantry the elf was more annoyed than grateful. Thorin let her go once the projectiles had stopped. The dwarf flushed pink, but had no time to think about it when a giant- a massive, towering stone giant emerged from the mountain in front of them.

"This is no thunderstorm;" Began Balin, his beard flying in the wind looking very much like his legs felt. Flighty and shaking like jelly. "It's a thunder battle! Look!"

Lostoriel pushed herself against the rock, gaping like a fish out of water at the unbelievable sight of a giant. A stone giant. Holding a boulder roughly the size of its head in the light of the pale moonlight.

"Well bless me, the legends are true. Giants; Stone Giants!" she heard Bofur call in a mixture of surprise and fear over the howl of the wind. The dwarf stood precariously close to the edge of the cliff. But it wasn't him who she worried about. It was Bilbo who looked pale as death, eyes staring uncomprehendingly as fear pinned him to the spot.

The storm rattled on its drums and brought more rain upon them as the first giant released his, Lostoriel didn't know why she saw the stonegiant world as being male, projectile into the air. The massive boulder soared overhead and collided with a crash like thunder into the head of a second giant behind them.

"What the actual hell?" she yelled utterly astonished and terrified at the sight before her as the ground shook beneath her boots as the giants stomped on the valley floor below.

Then the unexplainable happened. A deep rumble resonated from the mountain. As if it were throwing in its two-cents in the battle. The lose stones rattled uncontrollably and an echoing sea of shouts emerged from the company as the mountain they stood on sprouted legs and began to move.

Lostoriel and Thorin locked eyes for a moment. Fear is what they both reflected. Pure and unbridled fear that swam urgently in their blue eyes.

"I bloody well told you so!" she yelled as they both looked down and noticed, with somersaulting bellies that they stood just below the knees of one leg of a stone giant. The company was split in two. Both halves hanging on for dear life as the two giants decided, oblivious to his little passengers threw a stone crushing left-hook punch at the giant from the first mountain. The sound was louder than Gandalf's firecrackers and hundreds chunks of rock flew into the air. Lostoriel was on the verge of hysterics when she turned and saw that Bilbo was on the other leg.

"Is this really the time to do this?!" he shouted back.

Thorin was too petrified to through back the witty retort on his tongue as they were thrown around like ragdolls. The first giant across the valley threw a right hook at their giant who stumbled backwards. Lostoriel gripped onto the rocks beside her with all she had, forcing herself to calm down. One arm stretched lowly and across Thorin's shoulders firmly pushing him against the rocks.

The small group of five, including Lostoriel watched in horror as the second group leapt to another spot on the mountain, only for a third giant to arise from the depths of the mountain. The hulking black-grey mass emerged with a gigantic _crack!_ A boulder the size of a small car ready in its hands for a moment before it flung the rock with all its might at the head of the first giant. The mass of living rock stumbled backwards on impact, taking the small group of dwarves with it as it fell lifelessly into the chasm below.

"No! No!" yelled Thorin desperately as Lostoriel screamed Bilbo's name out with all her might. Her booming voice cracking when the giant's leg smashed into the mountainside. A cascade of chunks and sharp pieces of rocks showered the mountainside. The thunderous noise blending seamlessly with the screams of anguish from the group of dwarves and one elf.

Lostoriel was pinned to the spot. Her limbs were lead. She didn't want to see what lay beyond the small outcrop as the giant fell away into the darkness.

"No! Fili!" Thorin brushed passed her, rushing towards where his youngest nephew was. This galvanised Lostoriel into action as she sprinted to catch up with him. The dwarves, only the dwarves, lay heaped on one another as Balin shakily rose and laughed, telling them that they were all alive and unharmed. Lostoriel was relieved to see them all lying their perfectly alive, however she whipped around. Tense as a bowstring as her eyes darted about looking for Bilbo.

Bofur and her shared the same look of mortification, "Where's Bilbo?" they both asked in unison, panic taking over them.

"Where's the Hobbit!?" he shouted.

Ori saw him first pointing him out to the company before dropping to the ground and throwing his arm out for Bilbo to take. The hobbit, who had hung from the cliff's edge with his fingertips dropped a few metres down. Before he could even finish screaming in fear Lostoriel was halfway to him, both legs firmly planted on outcroppings and one arm grabbing him by his waist.

"I've got you!" she shouted to him.

Thorin swung down to the right of the hobbit, looking openly annoyed that he had to save the small being. He locked eyes with Lostoriel from above, the unspoken message clear before they both shoved him up the cliff. The elf hissed as she pushed him with all her strength, whilst hanging loosely by one arm herself.

Then the pressure was eased from the elf and dwarf as their companions hoisted Bilbo onto the cliff.

Thorin turned to her, nodding his head upwards, "Come on, you first!"

She didn't understand why he insisted on protecting her. She was perfectly capable of doing so on her own.

The elf gazed upward to where Dwalin was bent over the cliff, reaching down to Thorin, who was closer to him than she was.

"Lostoriel!" his voice rose as he began to fall, but was caught by Dwalin whose vice like grip on his wrist held no suggestion of letting him go.

Their elven companion managed to pull her way to where Thorin was hanging and grabbed a handful of his coat at his waist, pushing him upwards as Dwalin pulled. Lostoriel climbed up, huffing and puffing for air, as Thorin was tugged to the cliff's edge. Dwarves were much heavier than hobbits and her taught biceps were now shaking like jelly as Dwalin reached down for her.

"Come on elf!" he grunted, pushing himself over the cliff so that his fingertips brushed against hers. "Reach up to me!" his voice was desperate.

"I'm trying! Just give me a moment!" she called up stubbornly, her limbs now shaking uncontrollably. Lostoriel heaved in a deep breath, willing her body to calm down and her muscles to cease their wobbling.

The rain slid between her fingers, she could feel their strength beginning to wane and the gust of wind blowing through the chasm didn't help. Lostoriel gritted her teeth and let go of the wall with her left hand, pulling herself up and reaching for Dwalin's outstretched hand with her right one. Only to lose her handhold and slip another metre down the rock. Her stomach flipped violently as she fell, the cries of her name echoing down with her as she managed to swing herself into the rock and grab a hold of a small jut of stone in the wall.

"Come on! You have to climb!" Dwalin screamed down to her, as he made to climb over the cliff.

Lostoriel inhaled deeply to calm herself, she could feel her body beginning to panic. Her limbs shook like leaves and she could only see herself falling. She spat the rainwater out her mouth, "Stay up there! I can make it!" she yelled over the thunder.

But Dwalin was stubborn. As Lostoriel gained a hold of herself he shimmied over the cliff and climbed down a metre or so. Finding easy handholds that would allow him to reach her hand. At the same time Lostoriel used all her strength to push herself upwards, the rock was slippery and icy under her fingertips. She tried not to pay attention to the fear crawling up her throat as she swung her leg up and onto a small outcropping, then hauled her right hand up to another just below Dwalin's boots.

Her other leg swiftly followed, feeling the tiny piece of rock beneath her toe. The elf reached out and up onto the rock face, finding a slippery jut to grab on to and haul herself up. Lostoriel was in reach of Dwalin's hands now and she reached out with one hand, maintaining her rule of three limbs on the rock as Dwalin grabbed a hold of her arm below the wrist and began to pull her up. Lostoriel managed to throw up her left arm and Thorin caught it, bent over the cliff and being held down by his ankles.

They heaved her onto the cliff and she gratefully sank to the ground, breathlessly thanking them as she did so. Gloin, Thorin and the stronger dwarves helped to tug Dwalin up and over the cliff, practically throwing him against the rock wall as they did so. Heaving and puffing for breath.

Lostoriel turned to Bilbo laying a hand on his shoulder, "Don't you ever do something so stupid like that again! You scared me half way to death!" she scolded him, a smile playing on her lips telling him she meant no harm. Though he hoped she saw the happiness and relief that they were both alive in his features, he didn't trust his voice to tell her.

"I thought we'd lost our burglar and our elfling!" Remarked Dwalin, an unexpected surge of relief flooding his features.

The warm moment that passed between the dwarves and hobbit was short lived when Thorin practically spat his next words, still livid from having had to risk his life for the Halfling. Perhaps they had been right to leave without him all those months ago in the Shire.

His face twisted into a scowl, "He's been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come. They have no place amongst us. Dwalin!"

Thorin called for him as he marched off to find a cave that they could rest in. The pair rounded a corner and found a shallow cave.

"It looks safe enough." Said Dwalin, gripping his axe tightly, already smelling the fire that they would light. As he made to walk into the cave Thorin grabbed his arm, shaking his head and calling for Kili and Lostoriel to join them.

"Search to the back; caves in mountains are seldom unoccupied." He commanded them as Dwalin lit an oil lantern, the pale light outlining the entrance to the cave. Lostoriel squinted at its brightness, it seemed foreign in the darkness.

The elf entered the cave first, an arrow already notched and her eyes searching every inch of the cave illuminated by the light Dwalin carried. The light bounced off his axe, casting strange shadows on Thorin and Kili who followed closely behind them.

"There's nothing here." Called the gruff dwarf coming from a small walled off area in the back of the cave.

"It's all clear here too!" Lostoriel's voice bounced off the walls as she rounded a corner and came into the circle of light. "Seems safe enough." She said confidently, though the uneasy squirming in her gut told her otherwise. Her eyes adjusted to the dim blue light of the cave, she noticed that the inner most part of it- where they were- was shielded from the howling winds by two large faces of rocks that acted as walls. This would protect them from the cold which the elf now felt in her feet.

She shifted uncomfortably, frowning at the clammy sensation she received when she wiggled her toes in her rain- drenched socks. Elves weren't supposed to feel the cold as acutely as mortals were. However after spending the better part of two days hiking through the rain she now understood why mortals, namely the dwarves, had been complaining.

The Company swarmed into the cave, shrugging off their wet bags and cloaks with sighs of relief. Gloin hurriedly sat himself in the centre of the cave, dropping a bundle of wood and kindling onto the floor, unsettling the dust as he did so. Bilbo's loud sneeze echoed in the dim moonlight that fell into the cave.

"No, No fires, not in this place." Said Thorin, wearily looking around the cave as if waiting for some foul creature to jump out at them, "Get some sleep. We start at first light."

Balin and Lostoriel turned to him surprised, "We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us. That was the plan." Piped up the old dwarf, one hand resting firmly on his hip. Thorin resisted the temptation to roll his eyes, some things never changed with Balin. They had spent too much time wandering the mountains, if they tarried there would be a slim chance of them passing into Rhovanion before the first days of autumn. Waiting for Gandalf would mean them not making it to Erebor in time.

"Plans change. Bofur, take the first watch." Came Thorin's clipped reply, dismissing Balin without a second thought. The dwarf would have argued with him, but his old bones begged for rest. He could feel his back muscles and knees creaking as he stretched himself forward.

Lostoriel seated herself near the outer entrance of the cave, not bothering to argue with Thorin. Shaking off her pack, quiver and cloak, Lostoriel set the heavy, soaked garment on a small cleft of rock to dry and res-trapped her quiver to the leather belt around her waist.

Bilbo and Bofur watched her with identical frowns on their faces. Lostoriel flexed her bowstring experimentally, taking in the damage of the past two miserable days.

Bofur reclined on a boulder, waiting to see how long it would take her to notice them.

"What are you doing?" asked Bilbo, his arms crossed and one furry eyebrow arched. For a moment he reminded Lostoriel of an angry squirrel, the elf bit down a smirk.

"I am letting the you all rest, it has been a long day." The elf stood erect, her bow held loosely in her left hand, the other hovering over the quiver on her right.

Bilbo nearly gasped, one thing he had yet to get used to be that Lostoriel didn't need to sleep as much as they did. The thought baffled him. The hobbit didn't know much about elves, other than what Gandalf had told him and from the little he had read of from books in Hobbiton.

Lostoriel rolled her eyes at the exasperated expression on his face. This was not the first and would not be the last time the pair had argued over her concerning sleep pattern. Bilbo stamped his foot on the ground, laughing wryly at the ceiling and then at the elf, wagging a finger at her.

"Fine. I'm not fighting with you about this again. Fall off the cliff, your problem."

The elf snorted indignantly, about to protest when Bofur added his tidbit.

"He's right you know. You need rest. You're use to anyone half asleep."

The elf rolled her eyes, she had gone for weeks without sleep. She could handle it. But the dwarf stubbornly ignored her pleads and gave her an equally as stern look.

"Sleep now." Both he and Bilbo commanded in unison.

"Fine," huffed the elf, reminding Bofur of a dwarfling, "but wake me up and I'll take the next one." Lostoriel followed Bilbo into further into the cave, the fluttering snores getting louder with each step. She didn't bother unrolling her bedroll and propped herself up against the wall. Pulling her cloak over her body and resting her bow across her knees.

The cowl of her cloak shrouded her face in shadow and the indiscernible pattern of the grey-green material blended into the darkness of the rock. Breaking up the shape of her body and moulding her into the mountainside.

Satisfied that she was resting Bofur seated himself firmly against the rock wall, his tired eyes looking out into the gloom, watching the rain pound on the cave entrance.

Lostoriel however wasn't asleep, something about the cave made her uneasy. It was too clean, too shallow, like something was going to grab them out of the darkness. To distract herself she began to imagine the WoodLand Realm and tried her best to recall her memories. Which had by now come back to her, though Lostoriel was beginning to wish that she could go back to being blissfully ignorant. There were parts of her past that she didn't want to remember, parts that were still hazy around the edges and one in particular she wished hadn't happened.

She sighed heavily through her nose as she recalled the last words she had spoken to her father. The livid anger in which she had told him that she would never forgive him for what he had done. What he and Thrain had so readily agreed upon. Lostoriel's gaze discreetly turned to Thorin, who lay on his side on the opposite end of the cave. Earlier that day she had remembered her father forbidding any contact with him, no more delegations were to be sent to Erebor, no more trade agreements were to be received from Erebor, or sent to the mountain kingdom.

She had never gotten the chance to tell Thorin all this. And now whatever friendship they had held amounted to nothing. He was no longer the naïve dwarf prince who held a strong hope in his heart for the fall of the

Eventually her eyes glazed over, but no rest would come to her that night.

_"Grandfather" pleaded Thorin trying to lead him away, his eyes begging Lostoriel to help._

_Thror leapt from Thorin's grasp and dived head first into the moving treasure hoard when Lostoriel caught him and shoved him to the ground just as Smaug's spiked tail whipped over them._

_Thorin dropped to the ground, screaming in pain when one of the spikes cut across his back._

_Smaug reared up, the fire burning within his belly, turning his scales bright orange. Lostoriel clutched the shield in front of her, running backwards across the stone corridor and ducking behind a pillar as his fire threw itself across the opening._

_Lostoriel bit her lips as she tried not to scream in pain or fear when the heat of the fire touched her skin. She looked around, Thorin was nowhere to be seen. He had promised he would come back. That he wouldn't let her die defending his home. She only hoped now that he wouldn't_

_"Riel!" She caught sight of Thorin's hair before Smaug reared onto his hind legs, standing at his full height, his scales glowing amber before he fell forward and released a firestorm into the treasure. She stole a glance at where Thorin's voice had come from._

_But had no time to process his retreating form when the gold melted under the inferno, the jewels sweeping Lostoriel away as the dragon clambered towards her, snapping his ginormous snout at her. She was taken in under the tidal wave of treasure, she felt her heartrate increase, and her breathing came in harsh gasps as she clawed towards whatever pockets of air she could find beneath the jewels._

Lostoriel awoke gasping, her left side burning furiously.

"You're dwarves, you're used to this life. Living on the road, not belonging anywhere!" Bilbo's harsh whispers cut through her panic

"No you're right." Came Bofur's sullen reply. "We don't belong anywhere."

The heat that emanated from her side had a golden twinge to it, were her blades glowing? Her stomach turned nauseatingly. Something was amiss. Lostoriel shook herself out of the memory, looking confusedly at the intense exchange between Bofur and Bilbo.

She heard the clicking and creaking of metal mechanisms beneath them just as Bilbo's sword began to glow blue. Then she heard it. A slithering. The sound of sand slipping away.

They were trapped.

"Everybody up! NOW!" She roared just as Thorin got to his feet, yelling for their companions to wake up.

Lostoriel glowered at him, but she had no time to be angry when a line snaked across the cave floor. Sand slithering through it as it split the floor in half. They did not register what was happening the as cave floor collapsed beneath them and they were falling.

Lostoriel clutched her dagger and bow to her chest as her scream mingled with those of the dwarves and Bilbo. They were sliding down an enormous tunnel, they tried to find grips along the rock walls, but it had been worn smooth. Helplessly they slid down the tunnels, screaming unintelligible cries and several curse words that Bilbo had never heard before.

The elf's heart leapt into her mouth as the air was stolen from her lungs. The darkness of the tunnel at some point gave way to flickering fire light and then to an icy gust of air as they reached a large cavern. One by one the dwarves slid off the chute and into a massive wooden cage. Lostoriel only dared to open her eyes when she felt herself land on Ori, knocking the air from him and then stumbling over him again when Fili crashed into her from behind.

Chaos. The dwarves kept tumbling and falling all over each other when a horde of goblins descended upon them. The horrid, foul-smelling creatures blindly punched, kicked and lashed out at them in their frenzy. The dwarves attempted to fight back, several of the goblins received broken ribs or a fractured jaw, but the creatures were smart. They utilised the company's disorientation to grope at them and strip them of their weapons, grasping their wrists together in a bone-crushing grip and leading them off into the cavern. The dwarves made it difficult for them, kicking and screaming at the foul beasts.

A particularly hideous goblin attacked Lostoriel, kicking her in the shins then the knees and punching her in the stomach. The elf gasped as the air left her body, the goblin hoped to injure her, but he only aggravated her. Lostoriel swung a left-hook at his oval face, her fists collided with its face with a satisfying crack and knocked a few teeth clean out from its mouth.

The goblin snarled at her clawing at her leather belt and ripping the buckle from its hinge. Then a second goblin, this one slimy and a pale shade of green-grey, attempted to knock the butt of its sword into her head. But Lostoriel was faster, gripping its forearm and suddenly twisting it and hooking her boot behind its ankle, pulling it backwards and kicking out forwards, flipping the goblin onto its back.

Lostoriel swung another heavy punch at the first goblin, twisting to the right and sending another deadly left hook to the same place on its face. The elf snarled down at the creature as the combined weight of her back muscles and arm sent the goblin flying to the edge of the cage. Hastily moved grab her leather belt from where landed when the goblin had been airborne.

The cage was empty and the cavern quiet. It was only now that Lostoriel noticed that the dwarves were long gone, she could hear their cries echoing down the long passageway. It was now that she also gagged as the bitter, sour scent of filth, unwashed bodies and decay hit her like wrecking ball.

Lostoriel quickly knotted her belt around her waist, her eyes searching desperately for her bow. She searched the entire cage and only came across one of Fili's swords. As she bent to the right she caught a flash of brown hair and the sound of ragged breathing from behind the wood of the cage.

"Bilbo?" she asked, supressing a sigh of relief as the hobbit popped up from behind the wooden rails. Lostoriel quickly embraced him, a hand resting on his curly hair, "Are you hurt?"

The hobbit, wide-eyed and lightly trembling shook his head, "No, no I'm not. Are you? Where are we?"

"No, just a bit bruised." Lostoriel took another look at their surroundings as they noiselessly stepped out of the cage and treaded down the passageway. Crouching low in the dim light to keep out of sight. The elf loosely held her sword on her hand, the other on Bilbo's shoulder as she pulled him down behind a pile of discarded wheels and wood, their eyes never leaving the pair of goblins that were scuttling down the passageway. Once they were out of Lostoriel's ear shot, she turned to Bilbo.

"I believe that we have the privilege of visiting Goblin Town."

"Goblin Town." He looked at her like she was off her rockers. His nose twitched, the name and notion of a small town of goblins buried in the depths of the misty mountains seemed absurd to him. Then taking in their surroundings Bilbo realised that it wasn't absurd at all, rather it felt as if he was living a terrible nightmare.

Bilbo gulped, nodding to himself, "Right. Goblin Town." Then noticing that Lostoriel wasn't with him he scurried off, following the pale, white light that radiated from her. Idly he wondered if she knew that she was glowing.

Lostoriel frowned in the light of Bilbo's sword, seeing bones littered across the ground, streaks of mud and several waterskins, boots and other dusty pieces of travelling equipment carelessly scattered on the wooden bridge they crossed. They were obviously not the first travellers to become ensnared in the goblin's trap.

The hobbit and elf scampered along the bridge and eventually caught up with the Company. They trailed them down a short pipe of tunnel where Bilbo's sword light reflected off the wall as they rounded the corner.

Without warning three goblins lunged at them, their sickle blades hacking and stabbing at the odd pair. The tallest and most brutish of the three stabbed at Lostoriel, who instantaneously parried his blade with her sword, unsheathing her dagger with her left hand and in the same movement slashed it across its throat.

Immediately the second goblin aimed his sword for her head, whilst the third goblin went for Bilbo. Its crude sword moving too quickly for the hobbit to parry and leaving him to duck and clumsily flail his glowing sword at the creature. Lostoriel had managed to get into the goblin's space, tramp its foot under her heeled boot and thrusting her sword into its heart. The blade coming away drenched in black blood and swinging a heavy blow at the third goblin's calves. The goblin fell backwards, regaining its footing as it tried to hack at Lostoriel's side. Bilbo thrusted his sword at its arm, cutting it just above the elbow and causing the goblin to howl in pain. Lostoriel swung at its back, slicing it just above the hip, then thrusted her sword into its leather armour and just piercing its fleshy back.

Her stroke was clean and heavy, but it didn't hit home. The goblin had no time to comprehend what happened when Bilbo thrashed out at it and the creature stumbled over the edge of the platform. As it went down the goblin clawed at Bilbo's coat and took him down into the depths of goblin town.

"Lostoriel!" his cry for help echoed as he fell.

"No! No Bilbo!" she yelled after him, her blood freezing. Sheathing her sword and ducking beneath the rails, Lostoriel began to hastily clamber down the slippery rock. The cold biting into her fingertips and the stone bending her nails. She didn't feel the pain, her mind was preoccupied with getting down to Bilbo as quickly as possible. Lostoriel hoped with everything within her that she would find her friend alive and without serious injury. She didn't know what she'd do if he was dead.

Suddenly her foot slipped and she lost her hold on the small ledge and fell another three feet into the darkness. Lostoriel tried not to yell, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to whatever might be lurking at the bottom. She caught onto a thick overhang with one hand, her shoulder pulled dangerously from the impact. She hoped she hadn't dislocated it. The other flailing about until she brought it to the ledge and hulled herself over and clambered to the rock wall for safety.

Lostoriel heaved for breath as she calmed herself, peaking over the side she saw that she still had far to go. The elleth only hoped that Bilbo was still alive and that this would be a rescue, not a recovery. Lostoriel eyed the wall for a pathway down and she found one. One that would leave her bruised and exhausted by the end. But Bilbo was more important than herself.

The elleth rose shakily, moving to the edge of the overhang she stretched one leg to the next small jut of rock and her hands to the large hand holds she found.

"Okay, you can do this." She assured herself.

"One hand and foot at a time." Lostoriel began to descend carefully, her limbs barely slipping, but shaking as if she were a climbing earthquake. She was halfway down when she could hear the quiet rippling of water and the screeching cries of a goblin being killed.

Lostoriel missed her foothold again, she tried to propel herself forward, but it was no use. She was falling and falling fast into the depths of the misty mountains. She closed her eyes and prayed that when she hit the ground it would be the end. She didn't want to become goblin food, she didn't want to be paralysed.

But instead of the hard ground she landed back first in a freezing lake of water. The air was knocked from her lungs, as she flailed for the surface. She had sunk all the way to the bottom, her arrows lost to the water and her bow getting tangled in her cloak. When she hit the sand at the bottom of the freezing lake the elf gasped for air and immediately swallowed more. Her lungs burned, desperately screaming at her to reach the surface.

She kicked off the lakebed and shot through the water, only to be weighed down by her woollen cloak. Lostoriel blindly fumbled and tugged at the button that held the cloak across her shoulders, losing more air and inadvertently breathing in more water as she yanked it free. Quickly she pulled the cloak out from beneath her quiver and tightly gripped onto her bow. Her lungs felt as if they might burst in her chest, her heart pounded like an axe hitting the anvil. Then something dove into the murky depths and yanked her upwards by the hair.

Lostoriel twisted and writhed in the water as a pair of scrawny legs came into her vision and the creature clawed at her face. Its small, bony hand attempting to clamp over her nose and mouth. The elf reached up to grab its hands, feeling her hair twisted around on of them and tried to pry them off her. Her nails dug into its skin and the creature bit her on her shoulder. Its tiny, sharp teeth dug deep into her flesh and her dark, crimson blood began to gently waft into the water.

Lostoriel screamed as it removed its teeth from her shoulder and immediately regretted doing so as water rushed into her body, filling her lungs and causing her to thrash violently against the creature's grip.

As it forcefully grabbed her under her arm, she could see the dull, pulsating light of the water when she was yanked by her hair out of the water and onto dry land. The elf hastily gasped for air, still trashing and sputtered trying to free herself from the hands that held her, but it was no use.

She was much too weak and couldn't breathe, there was too much water in her lungs. The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was a pair of startling blue eyes and little teeth that grinned hungrily at her. Then a rock collided with her head with a resounding crack and Lostoriel knew no more.


	13. Of the Things that Lurk in the Deep

The smooth, golden ring was cool to his touch. The light of his sword cast wonderful, shimmering rivers of blue on its perfectly rounded curves. Bilbo stared curiously at the trinket, it had fallen from the hunched creature that had dragged the goblin that had fell with him deeper into the cave. It truly was a beautiful trinket, mesmerising his mind almost calling out to him.

He wrinkled his nose as the goblins horrific screams and the creature's shout of victory filled the cavern. Bilbo slowly turned as the creature began to sing, of all things. Its thin, nasally voice sent shivers crawling up his spine. Quickly he pocketed the ring following the shrill singing that was companied by the crunching of bones as the creature, or Gollum, that was what Bilbo had assumed to be his name after hearing him choke it out, continued to bash the goblin with a rock in beat with his song.

Bilbo found himself wincing every time the rock collided with the goblin. He followed the sound of the high-pitched singing echoing from the lake.

The silver-blue light of his sword flickered several times casting wobbling shadows on the water, before dying out completely, basking the hobbit in darkness as a great and loud as the splash that echoed in the cavern. Bilbo hadn't seen what had fallen but judging from the loudness of its collision with the water he assumed that it was a large body. And hoped that it was not Lostoriel.

Whatever, or whoever had fallen in thrashed about violently in the water fighting a one-sided battle with Gollum. Bilbo hid behind a cluster of boulders watching as the pale creature was pulled under and then jumped out of the foaming water dragging the thrashing and flailing being with him. Gollum muttered to himself about 'stupid elves' as the elf gasped and sputtered. Bilbo saw her take a long shuddering gasp of air before Gollum snarled and knocked her over the head with a rock.

The hobbit remained rooted to the spot as he watched Lostoriel go limp. Bile rose to his throat and all sound seemed to be drowned out by his racing heart, as Gollum dragged her off the massive outcrop on the lake and into the darkness. Bilbo pressed his hand into his teeth, biting hard at his skin to suppress the scream that bubbled in his throat. He didn't know if she was dead or merely unconscious, but he assumed the worst when the creature prodded at her stomach and cheered in victory, screaming to all who could hear about the 'juicy elfses!' A small squeak escaped his mouth and somewhere in the cavern Gollum whipped towards the sound and tugged the elf with him.

The cavern was eerily silent. The sound of his heavy breathing seemed to bounce off the cavern walls and echo back to him like waves of thunder. Bilbo held his sword out to the darkness, wishing that his arm would stop shaking like a leaf caught in the wind. And that the ground didn't haul and lurch beneath his toes as the wisp of the echoing hiss of something heavy being dragged touched his ears.

Bilbo are you going to stand and cower or save your friend? He knew he had to do something, he couldn't just leave her there to die. They needed to escape and find the daylight again, but first he needed to find the elf. Bilbo decided that he wasn't going to let her be eaten.

Plucking up what courage he could Bilbo stared down the darkness and made to run to the edge of the water. Glancing quickly to Lostoriel's limp form on the shore, the hobbit gripped onto his sword white knuckled when he saw that the rock in the middle of the lake was empty. He did not know what it was that told him to look up when he did, his heart leap into his throat. There on a sharp outcropping of rock was the ugliest, most horrifying creature he had seen in his life. Its startling blue eyes shone like lanterns in the darkness as it crawled towards him. Bilbo saw a flash of white and Gollum was crouched before him.

* * *

"If it's more information you're wanting, I'm the one you should speak to!" Bofur piped up, nearly fainting from relief when the Goblin King leaned back on his throne, if one could call the mass of bones and skin a throne, and moved away from Oin.

The dwarf held his hat to his chest, wide, brown eyes staring at the massive Goblin King, the picture of innocence. "Well you see now, we were on the road…well, it's not so much a road as a path…actually. It's not even that, come to think of it…" he paused, searching for a better description, "it's more like a track. Anyway, the point is we were on this road, like a path, like a track, and then we weren't! Which is a problem, because we were supposed to be in Dunland last Tuesday."

Thorin Oakenshield sighed in resignation, realising that he in his long life, had never before felt with such certainty that they were going to die. His companions nodded and mumbled in agreement. Stumbling clumsily around the details of their mishaps whilst travelling, stumbling over the details, but the slimy goblin before them believed nothing.

The Goblin King glared at them. His large, watery eyes darting about as he cried for them to be searched again. Thorin growled and shuffled uncontrollably as a small goblin pried and prodded him in places he had no desire to be prodded in. Thorin would have laughed when he heard the constant metallic clanging coming from Fili's general direction as they undoubtedly found his nephew's vast collection of daggers and knives. The goblin ripped Orcrist from his belt and shoved him backwards, then scurried off to the platform before the throne.

Thorin's eyes scanned over his companions, ensuring that none of them were injured, as he turned from nodding reassuringly at Kili he gasped. A goblin hobbled up to the king's throne, a longbow held high above his head. Lostoriel's bow. Thorin's heart leapt into his mouth. He hadn't seen the elf since they had first been captured. And now that he searched amongst his companions, he realised that she was not amongst them. Down here in Goblin Town who knows what they could be doing to her, for all he knew she could be dead, or being held captive.

The Goblin King raised a wispy eyebrow and snarled at the dwarf. "And why does Thorin Oakenshield possess an elvish weapon? I see no elf amongst you?" his snarl deepened when he caught the distress on all the Dwarves' faces as they came to the same realisation.

So it was true, he thought to himself, the watchmen that had been posted at the "front porch" as they had named it, was telling the truth about there being an elf in his kingdom. Apparently the elf was shorter than most, with hair burning gold like the forsaken moonlight, eyes deep and dark like the depths of the tunnels and swords that shone with the brightness of the sun. He grimaced shifting on his throne of carcasses and bones, his enormous chin wagging, elves were truly disgusting.

Clearly they had strong affections for the creature and he decided that it could be used to his advantage.

"What are you doing in these parts? I'm still waiting for my answer! Speak!" then he played his trump card, "Or you can bid farewell to your elf." Good, the great ball of flesh of a goblin thought, that'll get them talking. When they were being searched, chief of his guard had brought him news that a group of goblins had found the elf and were sorting out the situation. Where they were he didn't know, the goblin king sighed, nothing ever got done in his kingdom.

The weary group of travelers remained silent, the fury seething off them like smoke as the goblins swarmed around them like bats to rotting flesh and roughly twisted the Dwarves arms behind their backs, punching and kicking them. The squelching sound of teeth gnashing in their ears set Thorin on edge, he saw Kili shoving a goblin behind him, using his momentum to knock his elbow into the goblin's nose.

"Kili!" Thorin half shouted, shaking his head. If the goblin's had Lostoriel has their prisoner, it was no use fighting them off now. They didn't know where she was, nor did they know if the goblins would kill her if they fought back.

"Well then," the Goblin King spread his hands in a wide gesture, smiling maliciously at the Dwarves, cheerfulness apparent in his watery eyes, "if they will not talk, we'll make them squawk! Bring out the Mangler! Bring out the Bone Breaker! Start with the youngest." He pointed to Ori who attempted to shrink back behind Dori. "And bring out the elf! A shame really, to see such a pretty creature scream." He hoped that the elf was pretty, most of them were anyway, he thought ruefully and it annoyed him beyond measure.

That was the ripcord, Thorin pulled Ori behind him and pushed his way through the small crowd of dwarves and goblins, coming to stand on the platform before the Goblin King's throne.

"Wait." He growled. They could take him and beat him, torture him so long as Lostoriel and their companions remained safe. He couldn't stand by and let them die in such a way.

* * *

Lostoriel groaned, slowly bringing her hand to her forehead which flared and throbbed with pain. She wriggled her toes in her soaked boots and clambered blindly at the cool ground beneath her hands. The elf moaned again when she tried to open her eyes, squinting in the dim light of the cavern which only made the throbbing intensify.

Lostoriel squeezed her eyes closed, the darkness swirled in her hazy mind. She had no idea where she was. Suddenly she became aware of the burning pain in her right shoulder, she couldn't move it and gritted her teeth as the muscle pulled. It must have been dislocated when the creature pulled her out of the lake.

"It's awake precious!" Someone screeched, the shrill sound sent a wave of nausea over her. Gollum momentarily forgot about their game of riddles and hopped to the elf.

"You stay away from her!" The voice seemed so far away, echoing in the depths of her mind and rippling the water of her consciousness. The icy damp from her clothes had begun to seep into her skin and muscles as the darkness swirled around her. The voice gasped in triumph, "Wind. It's wind! Of course it is."

Gollum snarled at Bilbo, first for not letting him go near the elf and then for winning their third round of his game of riddles.

"Very clever, Hobbitses, very clever." He growled, slinking towards the prone Hobbit crouched beside the elf. Bilbo rose to this full height, Lostoriel's dagger in one hand and his blade in the other.

He began the riddle just as Gollum recoiled away from the blades. Bilbo struggled to find a riddle, his usually impeccable memory failed him and he was left stuttering, "Ah, ah. A box without hinges, key, o—or, or lid; yet golden treasure inside is hid." He let out a shaky breath, he had been so close to ensuring their deaths.

The voice continued to echo in her mind. Lostoriel knew that voice, but for now she concentrated on the slippery ground under hand and on the dwarf hammering on the inside of her head. She was bleeding and bruised. And what set her nerves sparking was the pair of voices that bounced off the walls. One reminded her of the tingling, burning sensation of running her nails over her bedsheets and the other of summer's days, and mountains and warmth.

She needed to get out of here. Lostoriel's eyes flew open, burning as the dim light shone like raging firelight. She bolted upright, sending the world spinning around her as the sharp pain in her head pulsated and she gasped for air. Rolling onto her side she coughed out what water remained in her lungs and sat breathing deeply as the cool air filled her lungs.

Suddenly someone was in her face. His warm chestnut eyes staring concernedly into hers. Something felt so ... Familiar, yes. And homely, as if she had known him forever.

He helped her to sit up, "Lostoriel! It's me. You're safe."

"Thalion?"

Bilbo frowned, once he had her upright against the boulder he tore a ribbon of his linen shirt with her dagger and pressed it to the gash on her forehead.

"It's me… Bilbo." seeing the confusion in her eyes, he knew that that knock on the head had done enough damage make her lose some memory. "Thank goodness you're awake, for a moment I thought we were both dead!"

She grasped the fabric of his lapel in an iron grip, "We need to get out of here! Where's Arwen? Thalion?" The urgency in her eyes worried Bilbo, she truly didn't know who he was. She thought he was her cousin. Her dead cousin. Bilbo hoped that that wasn't a sign. He rolled his eyes at the ridiculous thought, the elf was definitely just concussed.

"She's uhmm, she's safe. You're safe and we're going to get out of here." He improvised as Gollum padded closer to the pair, licking his lips hungrily, but turned away with his tongue sticking out his mouth as if he could taste the answer from the air. "Are alright?"

Lostoriel's eyes cleared as she shook her head and blanched. That was a horrible idea. Her words came out slurred, "No, my head feels as if Dwalin is mining in it and I think I've dislocated my shoulder." She nodded towards her right, unable to move anymore without causing herself more pain. "How did you find me?"

"No time to explain, we're about one riddle away from being eaten." He took her hand and pulled her up, the other still pressed to her forehead.

The elf pressed herself against a boulder, cradling her injured arm in her free hand, "What? And what's that awful screeching?"

"Oh that's just Gollum, we're in the middle of a game of riddles and he's trying to get the answer." He hastily whispered, his matter-of-fact tone only confusing her even more. Bilbo gave her a watery smile, taking her hand and placing it on the bundle of bloodied linen on her forehead. "Keep putting pressure on that."

Quickly he turned to study Gollum who was muttering about 'nasty boxes.'

"Give up?" he asked, smirking confidently.

Gollum spared him one hasty glance and then cried, "Give us a chance, Precious. Give us a chance!" And continued to pace and snarl as he over turned the riddle in his mind.

Bilbo turned back to Lostoriel, who stared into some far- off space, visibly gritting her teeth in pain. He gave her dagger back to her and squeezed her arm with a sympathetic smile. He couldn't do anything to ease her pain, not whilst they were here.

"You were out for quite some time, he and I," Bilbo nodded towards Gollum who was now pounding his fists on the ground in frustration, "agreed that if I win he'd show us the way out."

Lostoriel's eyes widened at the blue eyes that seemed to glow in the dark, taking in Gollum's gangly, pale limbs and bones that jutted out under his skin. For such a tiny, frail creature he was surprisingly strong. "And if you lose?"

The hobbit awkwardly cleared his throat, "Oh well then he eats us whole."

The elf choked on her spit, "Seems reasonable." Gollum looked as if he was in need of eating an elf and Hobbit, though the prospect of being his lunch, or dinner or whatever made her toes curl.

"Eggses! Eggses!" The pair jumped as Gollum's voice echoed off the walls, "What crunchy little eggses, yes! Grandmother taught us to suck them, yes."

The hair on Lostoriel's neck stood on edge when Gollum's cackle filled the air, sending bats flying in the cavern. The pair peered behind the boulder, holding their breath. But the creature was nowhere to be seen.

Lostoriel and Bilbo tentatively looked at each other, fear swimming in both their eyes. "Where is he?" she whispered as the floor lurched and rolled beneath her and Bilbo caught her around the waist before she could fall flat on her face.

"I don't…I don't know."

Gollum's airy voice echoed from somewhere deep in the cave, the guttural tone sending chills down their spines, "We have one for you: All things it devours, birds, beasts, trees, flowers. Gnaws iron, bites steel, grinds hard stones to meal. Answer us!" he demanded.

Bilbo pressed his lips in a thin line, locking his jaw "Give me a moment please," Bilbo's voice was strained as he propped Lostoriel against his shoulder and pushed her upright until she stood, slanted against the boulder. "I gave you a good long while." He gently took her hand and placed it over her wound again, this time standing on his tiptoes to reach the large gash. Bilbo firmly placed his hand over hers, she gave him a woozy smile of thanks.

"So," Lostoriel followed his darting eyes expectantly as he stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth, "what'ss the answer?"

She gasped as the throbbing in her head and the ringing in her ears intensified. The image of Bilbo before her seemed to ripple as the floor rose to meet her.

"Whoa! I've got you." Bilbo caught Lostoriel as she slid to the side. "Do me a favour and try not to faint." He turned away, pacing around the small space, his sword pointed dangerously in front of him. Bilbo frowned, concentrating on the threat of Gollum killing them and the elf who could pass out at any moment was making his brain pound in his head. He looked into her eyes uncertainly, "I don't…I don't know this one."

"Is it tasty?" Gollum's singsong voice echoed eerily around them. Lostoriel and Bilbo glanced at each other in fear.

He was at a loss for an answer, he looked imploringly at Lostoriel who shook her head. "Don't look at me like that, I have a concussion. Come on Baggins, I thought you were excellent at such brain games." She grinned lopsidedly at him.

Bilbo huffed in frustration, biting his lip. The sass in her voice starkly reminded him of Lobelia Sackville –Baggins and he rolled his eyes. "And I thought Elves were the most intelligent beings in the world!" he hissed.

"Is it scrumptious? Is it crunchable?" Then Gollum popped up behind Bilbo in the darkness, reaching out to grab at his throat. Lostoriel had her sword out and pointed against Gollum's throat in less than a second, she glared witheringly at him, all signs of her concussion seemingly gone. However she had a strange sensation that the floor curved like rolling waves beneath her feet.

"Try that again and you're gone." She hissed.

"Let me think. Let me think." Bilbo glanced at Gollum as he paced, comforted and deeply unsettled by the fact that her sword was still pointed at Gollum neck.

A cool breeze fluttered into the cave, Lostoriel sniffed at it smiling at the woof fresh air and tried to determine which direction it was coming from. If they followed it then maybe they could find a way out, but it could also lead them further into the mountains too. Her sword dropped to her side, Bilbo noticed with a gulp that her grip was still tight around the hilt. He did not want to be on the receiving end of the blade, he almost felt pity for Gollum should he try anything else.

"We could be stuck here for days or months or years and become one with the stone. I wonder what day it is. Day or night, the hours stretch like the twilight behind a weary heart." Lostoriel gave Bilbo a pointed look, she thought that she was being perfectly clear about what she was saying, but Bilbo only rolled his eyes. He finally understood why the Dwarves thought they were so irritating when she began her lengthy monologue about time. The elf bit back a scream of frustration as he glared at her and resumed his pacing. She had practically given him the answer.

"It's stuck Lostorie-al!" Gollum bounced joyfully on his hands and feet on the jagged rock he was perched on. Lostoriel who jumped back in fright, he looked much too excited to eat them and his shrieking pierced her ears and set them ringing. She wondered how he knew her name as he grinned wolfishly at them, his nearly toothless gums exposed. "Bagginses is stuck!"

"Bilbo if you don't mind!" She caught his eyes, freezing him in place as she nodded imperceptibly. "Time's running out here!"

The Hobbit only glared at her, "Don't you think I know that?" And continued to pace, glancing at the ceiling and then the lake as if he could stare at them for long enough and the answers would mysteriously appear. Lostoriel rolled her eyes in frustration, gripping her sword tightly and re-pointing it at Gollum's throat.

Gollum rested on his toes, smiling sweetly to himself, his arms spread in a wide victorious gesture. "Time's up."

He wriggled on his haunches in anticipation, the grin on his face slowly contorted into a starved snarl and he readied himself to lunge at the elf. Lostoriel threateningly stepped forward, blood oozed from her head wound and combined with the unnerving scar on her cheek made Gollum freeze on the spot. She looked deep into gaunt his eyes as her own snarl darkened and she saw nothing but deceit and a small twinge of unwillingness swimming restlessly.

Bilbo looked triumphantly from Lostoriel to Gollum, "Time. Ti—the answer is time."

"Took you long enough."

Lostoriel 's shaky laugh die on her lips when Gollum growled and leapt off the rock, prowling the space between them and his nest of bones and other unsavoury items, that set Lostoriel's nose wrinkling.

"Actually, it wasn't that hard." Admitted Bilbo in a futile attempt to redeem what dignity he had left. Lostoriel rolled her eyes and came to stand beside Bilbo putting as much distance between them and Gollum. From here she could hear the light rustling of the wind through the tunnels, if Bilbo could buy them a little more time then she could perhaps find the way out. She studied him once more and found herself unwilling to leave him to Gollum alone. Said Gollum had stopped his prowling and to stare at them through narrow slits.

"Last question. Last chance." He begged them, Gollum's voice sweetened and his bulbous eyes softened, "Ask us a question. Anything precious."

Lostoriel gave Bilbo a sidelong look, one eyebrow in its seemingly permanent arch, "Anything?"

"Ah, uh...Oh." a smirk tugged at his lip as he realised what she implied. However it quickly died, when he tried and failed to think of a single confounding question. A dangerous silence filled the cave, he could practically hear Gollum flaring his nose. Bilbo glanced again at Lostoriel and frowned seeing the wrinkles on her forehead as she struggled to think of a question.

"Ask us." Gollum reached for something at his side, cleverly hiding it behind his back. Lostoriel glanced to the side and blanched, noticing the jagged rock wrapped in his palm. "ASK US!" he roared causing them both to jump back in fright.

"Yes, yes, alright." Said Bilbo, brushing past the elf to the edge of the water.

Lostoriel gave him a pointed look, ignoring the pain that spread down her entire body as she let her skin thin on her cheek, revealing a murky, shadowed layer of scars. Gollum's eyes nearly popped out from his skull as he hastily retreated into his nest of bones, sending them clattering and scattering.

Lostoriel didn't fail to notice how one of his hands fiddled with something in his pocket, whatever it was caused his face to wrinkle as he thought of a question. She wrecked her mind for one of her own, but thought of nothing as Gollum grew confident and hobbled towards her, cowering behind a ragged boulder.

Bilbo bounced on his toes, a half-smile plastered on his face as he winked at Lostoriel who swayed ever so slightly as the blood continued to drip down her face. She reminded him of an old tale about the wrights in the far off Barrow Downs his mother had once told him about, with her blood and scars bared so openly. Bilbo stole one last glance at her before turning to Gollum.

He turned the cold ring between his fingers, then it came to him, "What… have I got… in my pocket?"

Bilbo leapt in fright at the resounding cracking of a rock being thrown across the floor, Lostoriel shoved Bilbo behind her as Gollum cried, "That's not fair. It's not fair! It's against the rules!"

He reminded them both of a whining child as he crouched, staring at them with wide innocent eyes. "Ask us another one." He pleaded in a sickly sweet voice, lightly hopping onto the rock he had cowered behind.

"No, no," growled Lostoriel lowly, "You said 'Ask me a question. Don't back out of the game now creature."

Bilbo stuck his hands firmly into his pockets, turning the ring over in his palm again. And again Lostoriel did not fail to notice the soft, peculiar expression upon his face. Bilbo smirked, "That is my question. What have I got in my pocket?"

"Three guesses, Precious." Gollum leapt off the rock, closing the space between them and holding two fingers up he smiled, "It must give us three."

"Three guesses. Very well, guess away." Nodded Bilbo as Lostoriel slowly backed away from the pair, turning her nose this way and that as she attempted to follow the thin trail of fresh air.

"Handses!"

Bilbo hastily flung his hands out his pockets, holding up ten digits for Gollum to see, "Wrong, guess again."

The elf followed the warming air as it lead her past Gollum's nest and further into the tunnels, the walls seemed to melt into each other as she leaned gasping in pain against. Her shoulder was throbbing and it set her on edge, Lostoriel gritted her teeth and pushed herself up. She needed to get back to Bilbo.

Gollum padded a thin line into the floor, his wrinkled face scrunched into a pout as he muttered beneath his breath. Bilbo watched with quaking limbs as Gollum grew frustrated with each answer, eventually pounding his fists on the ground as he madly blurted out his guesses. "Fish-bones, goblins' teeth, wet shells, bat's wings ... Knife!"

He turned in on himself, "Oh, shut up."

"Wrong again. Last guess!" exclaimed Bilbo, all smiles but inside he was screaming in fear, he hoped Lostoriel could hear time. Time was running out and she had disappeared into the darkness and he was a minute away from being eaten.

"String!" Lostoriel's head jerked up and the floor and walls swirled together, dancing with the encompassing blackness around her, the tendrils of greyness, thick tendrils of fear and darkness reached out to her as the pain flared in her shoulder. She blinked back heavy eyelids, if only she could close them, just for a moment, for a second then she could make it to Bilbo.

"Two guesses at once;" the Hobbit tutted, masking his relief and smug excitement, they or rather he had won the infernal game of riddles, "wrong both times."

Gollum threw himself onto the floor, pitifully curling into a ball as he sobbed, having lost the game, his food and the only intelligent and almost friendly company he had had in centuries.

"So, come then, I won the game! You…me the way out." The elf vaguely heard Bilbo's voice over the ringing in her ears, she relaxed, grinning lopsidedly. Bilbo had won! He would escape and she would fall into the comfort of the soft grayness behind her eyes.

A cacophony of sharp howls and screams pierced the air as the goblin threw Orcrist onto the ground, where it landed with a clatter metres from Thorin's grasp.

The Goblin King scuttled towards his throne, squishing the goblins under him like ants and retreated like a scared child onto his throne, his feet tucked beneath him. He cowered, "I know that sword! It is the Goblin-Cleaver, the Biter, the blade that sliced a thousand necks."

Thorin smirked, for the first time in his life he was thankful for the Elves and their ability in battle and fine weaponry. His smirk morphed into a guttural scream as he was whipped, kicked and bitten from all directions as the goblins fell into a frenzy. His companions shouted curses and insults as they shoved and head-butted the grey creatures before the goblins sunk their teeth into their flesh.

A hideous, goblin with chains and rope wrapped around his body threw himself on Thorin. Knocking him to the ground and roughly pushed him onto his back. The air escaped Thorin with a loud poof and he gritted his teeth as the goblin straddled him across his stomach, two more held down his hands and another two clawed at his feet.

The one-eyed goblin that sat over him raised a lean arm in the air, a long, jagged warg tooth held high above his head. Its sharp point rushed down to meet Thorin's neck as a blinding wave of light exploded, sending goblins and dwarfs alike flying to the ground. The vast cavern flew into darkness as the firelight was snuffed out. All sound was muted as the shockwave crashed over them, Thorin inhaled jaggedly, more than relieved to still have his head and grinned sloppily as he recognized the pointy, grey figure emerging from the centre of the explosion. Gandalf.

The eerie orange glow returned as they all struggled to rise, the light from Gandalf's staff had them away blinking spots and stars from their eyes. Thorin's ears rang as the wizard strode forward, unsheathing Glamdring in a smooth motion as his staff held menacingly, daring the goblins to attack him.

"Take up arms!" his murky voice boomed through the white noise, "Fight. Fight!"

The dwarves hastily shot to their feet and helped each other up, running to retrieve whatever weapons they could. Then all hell broke loose. The Dwarves roared their battle cries as the goblins furiously surged towards them, Thorin grabbed Orcrist and swung it in a deadly overhead swing, bringing it down on the nearest goblin and sending it flying to the ground. He hastily ducked and rolled beneath a sword meant to decapitate him, managing to grab Lostoriel's bow in his free hand and shoot up to his feet using his momentum to thrust Orcrist into its deadly dance. He glowered at the next goblin in his path which tried to run away from his path of death. Thorin intended to tear the forsaken goblin town to shreds, inch by inch until he found Lostoriel.

"Lost!" cried Gollum, beating the ground with his fists, throwing aside the disgusting piles of bones from his nest as he madly cried and searched for the item he lost. "Curses and splashes, my precious is lost!"

Bilbo's eyes widened as he realised that what Gollum had lost rested in the palm of his hand. He chewed on his lip, watching as the creature splashed in the lake, pulling and cursing the water when he couldn't find it. The ring. That felt so right in Bilbo's hand, warm and round and perfect. No, he found it, the ring, his ring might not be what Gollum was searching for.

"What have you lost?" asked Bilbo, his eyes darting about the cavern, desperately hoping Lostoriel would appear soon. He needed her, Bilbo knew he couldn't fight on his own. He was too weak, too hopeless, his heartbeat wildly, he didn't know how long they were down here for. The dwarves could be gone by now, they might never find a way out!

"Mustn't ask us! Not its business! No! Gollum, Gollum." He was bent over the murky water, his rough, hacking cries of 'Gollum' fought their way into Lostoriel's consciousness. The elf's chin jerked up from her chest, she drank in the icy air and cursed as a searing pain emitted from her shoulder.

"Bilbo!" She muttered, clambering blindly at the wall as she pulled herself up using one arm and her legs. She needed to find him, get them out of this damned cavern and as far away from Gollum as possible.

"What has it got in its nasty little pocketses?" Lostoriel heard Gollum's enraged growl and she ran towards the source of the sound. The elf screamed as red, hot pain swelled from her arm as she outstretched them both, feeling the wet walls beneath her dirty finger tips. Her entire body throbbed and ached, the walls seemed to open their mouths to eat her in her delirious state. Lostoriel, shook her head clear, grimaced and let her determination to live burn in her eyes. Thalion, no Bilbo…Yes, Bilbo needed her and she wasn't going to let him die.

"He stole it. He stole it!" Gollum's shrill cry raising the hair on her neck and spurred her on. She could feel the walls widening as she passed through. "HE STOLE IT!" her heart skipped a beat as a wave of cold air passed over her and the dim light of the cavern met her eyes.

"Lostoriel! Where ever you are we have to go!" Yelled Bilbo, she followed the sound of his voice and caught a flash of red and brown as Bilbo sprinted away from Gollum. Stones clattered behind him as Gollum cried for him to give back what he had stolen. The Hobbit didn't turn to look behind him, focused on the thin slit in the wall that he only hoped led to a way out.

"Go Bilbo!"

Bilbo stole a glace and saw a flash of green and gold. Then with all he had he pushed himself into the thin crack, no larger than the size of his head. One half of his body was greeted by a rush of warmer air and the other stuck in Gollum's cave. Bilbo gasped as his entire body quaked. Gollum began to close the distance between them. The Hobbit wriggled and pushed with all his might, Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut keeping the tears of exertion at bay as he tried shimming his way to the right, where his freedom lay.

"It's ours. It's ours Baggins!" Snarled Gollum as he came within arms-reach of Bilbo. Lostoriel could see them now, she leapt over a cluster of boulders, her body glowing palely as she landed with a heavy thud and sprinted towards Gollum.

The Hobbit grunted, his damned waistcoat was going to be the reason that he died. The brass buttons waned and pulled to one side as he leaned with everything he had to the other. Then Bilbo heard the ripping of fabric and the dull cluttering of buttons as he hit the ground. He inhaled shallowly, his entire body ached from over-exerting himself.

Lostoriel looked up and saw Bilbo escape through the tiniest of cracks in the wall, Gollum spat at the buttons on the floor, readying himself to slip through the crack. Lostoriel closed the gap between them and shoved Gollum out the way, barely registering the nausea and pain as she pushed herself into the thin gap between the walls. Her shoulder burned as she squeezed herself through the gap, her head and left side were still in Gollum's cave. She tried to move, but her quiver got hooked on the rocks behind her.

With no time to whisper an apology to Glorfindel she slid her sword through the crack and pushed herself as far up against the wall as she could, bringing the blade between her stomach and the strap and hastily cut through the leather.

"Here I've got you!" shouted Bilbo as Gollum growled something unintelligible from the other side. Bilbo grabbed her by the arm and yanked her through the crack, he grimaced as he heard her agonised scream.

Lostoriel stumbled forward reaching blindly for Bilbo, who she could hear, but couldn't see. The invisible hobbit caught her and pushed her upwards, squinting as she glowed pure white in the blurry, swirling world of the unseen. The ring. The magic ring had slipped onto his finger as he fell and had turned the world into a glowing pond of colour. Bilbo glanced down at himself and then at the look of pure horror on Lostoriel's face.

"Come on I see the way out!"

"Wha- Bilbo how are you… invisible?"

"I!" He shouted barely beginning his explanation as he leapt out the way as Gollum flew through the crack and pounced towards the elf. Bilbo tried to push him back in mid-air but Gollum's feet knocked him over sending him stumbling backwards. Bilbo hit his head on the rocks and gripped the wall, his head spinning and his vision clouded over.

Gollum's clammy hands gripped Lostoriel's neck cutting off her air supply. She thrashed around, kneeing Gollum with all her strength in the stomach. He screamed and tumbled off her, then he whipped back around to face her, growling and snarling like a wild beast. "It stole it from us! Where is the nasty little hobbitses?"

Lostoriel grabbed her sword from where it had fallen and held it threateningly before her. "You lie, he took nothing from you." she asked.

She needed to get out of here. Somewhere before her she could her Bilbo's harsh breathing and raised her blade until the cold tip touched the skin on Gollum's throat. He didn't dare to move a muscle, let alone breathe, feeling the cold metal on his skin and seeing the unwavering fury and seriousness in the elf's dead set eyes. ,"He's gone. Now I'm going to go and you will not follow us. Understand?"

"We understands elfs! We does! Filthy hobbitses took the precious! We needs it elfs! We does!" He cried at her feet, kneeling in a tight ball he clawed at his head and rubbed his shoulders sobbing uncontrollably, "Get us... back... the precious!"

Unbeknownst to her Bilbo stood in front of her, his sword also held before Gollum's neck, his hands shaking, he didn't know if he could do it. If he could kill Gollum. He brought back his sword and rested it over his shoulder, breathing harshly as he gazed into Gollum's wide eyes. Lostoriel said nothing, the thick wave of apprehension clawed up her chest. In the distant dimness, somewhere around the corner of the small alcove she spotted the running shadows of the dwarves and a warm hope like melted honey filled her chest. They were alive! And they had found a way out!

Bilbo looked up at the same time, a wide, floppy grin on his face as their companions rushed passed them. The hope in him sunk to his toes, one last obstacle stood between him and freedom. She studied the pitiful creature weeping, he once was something close to human. Something, someone who once knew the warm touch of the sunlight, the feel of cool rain upon his skin. Now as she and Bilbo held their blades out towards him they saw nothing but sorrow, loneliness and the last dregs of humanity that Gollum clung to with all he had.

No, they both thought, neither one of them could kill him. Lostoriel released the heavy breath she had been holding and simply stepped around Gollum's curled form. He saw her feet and grabbed at them, cursing and trying in vain to pull her down from the ankles and calves, Lostoriel kicked him away and fled through the opening into the tunnel.

Immediately squinting as the bright, welcoming sunlight pierced her eyes. She stumbled blindly to the exit and stood with her toes dangling over the rock. Lostoriel caught flashes of hair and leather as the dwarves sprinted downhill. She had been accustomed to the grey, sparse underground and now she could see grass and trees and the shadows growing long on the mountains in the distance. The fresh, cool air called to her, the smell of the forest tugged at her core. One more step and she'd be free of the dark.

Lostoriel glanced over her shoulder, seeing no sign of Bilbo and turned back to the light. She huffed frustrated, spinning on her heel and stalking back to the alcove. She gripped the hilt of her sword tightly, set her jaw. She was not going to leave him to be eaten by Gollum.

Just as she rounded the entrance to the alcove a gust of wind flurried passed her and an invisible hand latched onto her wrist and pulled her along with it. Lostoriel couldn't move her right arm to remove the hand without waves of pain washing over her, "Bilbo!?"

Gollum leapt out of the hidden cave and lunged towards them, only catching their shadows.

"Yeah! Come on!" he tugged her again and the two bolted to the end of the tunnel, passing from the chilled, granite floor onto the soft and timeless shadows of the goblin tunnels onto the soft, yellow grass of the mountains. The dying sunlight flooded their senses and the pair stumbled clumsily over their feet as gravity gripped their knees and dragged them downhill.

"Baggins! Elfs! Thiefs! We hates it forever!" Lostoriel skidded to a halt as Gollum's shrill cry echoed down the mountainside. She turned, panting heavily as she scanned the way up, then seeing no sign of the gangly creature she took off downhill. The she-elf listened carefully for the vague sound of Bilbo's heavy footfalls and darted off after him, clutching her arm close to her chest as every step sharply jerked her dislocated limb.

Bilbo sprinted as fast as his stubby legs could take him, running blindly out into the open plain of the mountain and into the thin forest. The trees blurred passed him, their vibrant greens and browns blurred together in his swirling, invisible state. He inhaled sharply as he ran, breathing in the pungent, sweet scent of pine that rushed to his head and made the world float around him, his head light and buoyant as he stumbled through a jumble of rocks and logs.

"Bilbo?!" he heard Lostoriel's distant cry somewhere to his right.

"Lostoriel!" he panted, glancing at the trees around him, "Where are you?"

The elf stumbled over a pile of dead leaves, scattering them and sending a terrified hare bounding into the shrubbery as she bolted passed its hole. "Bilbo!" she called again, halting and mimicking his same movements, turning in a circle as she scanned the mountainside for the Hobbit.

"To your left!" shouted Bilbo as he raced down the rocky slopes, sliding and jumping clumsily over the small embankments and cliffs until the Company's leaden footsteps met his ears like a rolling drumbeat of safety. Whilst Lostoriel darted to her left, the exact opposite direction of him and ran in a wide arc, the roaring thudding of the dwarves drowning out Bilbo's softer footfalls.

* * *

"And Bombur…That makes thirteen." Gandalf furrowed his brows, his stomach summersaulting whilst tendrils fear rose from his toes and up his spine. There had been no time to do a head count when he had found them in Goblin Town, he could have easily missed the Halfling in the chaos. But missing an Elf in the midst of a fray was not an easy feat, the wizard cursed under his breath. How could he have been so careless?

"Where is Lostoriel and Bilbo? Where's our elf and hobbit?!" Cried Gandalf glaring under the grey brim of his hat at the panting Dwarves.

"Curse the Halfling now he's lost!" Dwalin kicked the ground, he had, begrudgingly, begun to become fond of their two odd companions, especially the Hobbit and his cheerful tales of his home.

"I thought he was with Dori!" urgency and concern thick in Gloin's voice.

"Don't blame me!" cried accusingly Dori.

Gandalf heaved a shuddering breath of annoyance, "Well, where did you last see him?"

"I think I saw him slip away, when they first collared us." Nori dejectedly shook his head, there had been no time to protect Bilbo when they were captured.

Dwalin grunted, leaning heavily on his axe, "The elf was fighting off the goblins when they led us away. Those accursed goblins got to her!"

The guilt that flooded their beings was palpable in the air, so thick and unforgiving that they seemed rooted to the spot. Unable to move or to face the other. They had failed her.

"What happened exactly?" the wizard shuffled towards Dwalin, he pushed down the panic and unconceivable thought hammering his mind. If they told him what had transpired, maybe just maybe there was a chance that they would be able to find the Elf and Halfling. "Tell me!"

Thorin crossed his arms, his face scrunched into a withering scowl as he had known that bringing the pair was a terrible idea and that this would be their fate. Though a part of him, a minuscule and unwilling part of him, knew he was wrong to think so. His heart sank to the ground as he realised that he had lost Lostoriel a second time. One of his oldest friends, if he had just listened to her. If she hadn't been so foolish to fight them off by herself, then maybe just maybe she would be alive. No, Thorin gripped her bow white knuckled, he refused to believe that she was dead. They had to go back, he needed to find her!

"I'll tell you what happened." He spat, "Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it!"

Gandalf shook his head, unwilling to believe what he heard.

Thorin's voice rose, dangerously deepening, "He's thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door! We will not be seeing our Hobbit again. He is long gone."

Then he seemed to deflate before them, "They captured her Gandalf. We… We have to go back! We can't leave her to the mercy of those foul creatures." Thorin spun on his heel and began to stalk back up the mountain. Fili dashed after him, covering the short distance in a matter of seconds and laying a firm hand on his uncle's shoulder.

"Uncle, we might be too late." Fili voiced what they all knew, "We took out their leader, by now…" he could offer no softer words, no comfort. Fili's wide eyes laid it all bare for Thorin. There was no hope that she was alive. "I, as much as you want to scour every corner of that forsaken place, but if we do then surely we will perish. Then we would have travelled all this way for naught. She would not want us to do that."

The Company said nothing, sharing sorrowful and disappointed looks with each other. Each one not wanting to believe what Fili had said and each of them refusing to settle it in their hearts. They had no choice about it, they had to move on.

The elf and hobbit had become one of them no matter what Thorin thought. And now to have them gone caused despair to rise in them. Kili wrapped a consoling arm around Ori's shoulders, holding his friend tightly.

Thorin searched his nephew's eyes, hoping beyond hope that he was wrong. Fili engulfed him in an embrace, scared because he had never seen Thorin so vulnerable nor so desperate. And he could do nothing about it.

"I'm sorry Uncle."

Bilbo's heart swelled in his chest as a strange warmth filled him, he studied them again and decided to put them out of their misery. He pulled the ring off his finger, stepping out from the tree he had hidden behind, "No he's not!

The Company gazed up white as sheets, with grinning brightly and laughing in joy as their hobbit was alive!

"Bilbo Baggins!" Gandalf laughed deeply, his wide smile lighting up his face as he strode towards Bilbo, "I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life!"

The Hobbit rolled back his shoulders, striding into the group and finding Balin's shoulder laid his hand on it, sharing a warm smile with the old Dwarf.

"Bilbo, we'd given you up!" grinned Kili, forgetting about Ori and rushing towards Bilbo.

"How on earth did you get past the Goblins?!" Fili's smile nearly split his face in two as he let go of Thorin.

Was that Bilbo and Fili and Kili? Lostoriel stopped in her tracks, listening for Bilbo's heavy footfalls and hearing nothing. Hurriedly she whipped to her left and saw movement between the trees. She ran towards it, making out several heads of hair and the glinting of sunlight off their weapons. She could hear their deep and annoyingly loud breathing as they came into focus.

"And what of Lostoriel? Is she?" Thorin's voice was low, he knew that if the hobbit were alive, their elf would be alive too. But the thought nagged at his mind.

Lostoriel bolted, skidding down the sandy slopes and clumsily bouncing around the trees as she heard Thorin's voice. Clods of sand and grass were tossed up in her wake and the trees seemed to thin out as she skidded to a halt behind Bilbo and she almost fainted at the sight that lifted her heart.

"She's alive!" Panted the elf, leaning heavily against a tree trunk, her lungs cried for breath and her shoulder burned.

The Dwarves now laughed with relief that quickly faded as they saw the condition that the elf was in. Dried blood stained her face in rivulets, she stood painfully leaning to the right and her arm was hanging awkwardly by her side, making her look like an out of proportion puppet.

Thorin grinned uncaringly and made to hug her, but stepped back immediately, unsure of whether she would accept such a gesture. His heart leapt with joy as she smiled lopsidedly at them.

Gandalf who was the closest to her rushed off and steadied her as she swayed dangerously. A wide smile wrinkled his face even more, "I've never been happier to see you in all my years penneth!"

Wearily the elf looked up at him, there were two Gandalf's swimming in her vision, "Mithrandir! How did you get here?" Her words slurring slightly.

"No time for such explanations now Lostoriel. First let's attend to that wound of yours." his voice was calm and soothing as he wiped away the blood trickling down her cheek with the corner of his robe.

"Lostoriel!" Exclaimed Thorin, "we had given up all hope."

The elf shook her head and immediately regretted the action as her vision swam, "It takes more than a fall to kill me, Thorin."

"How did you get escape? We thought the goblins had taken you prisoner." Asked Fili repeating his earlier question whilst tearing off a long strip of the grey shirt he wore under his jerkin. Gandalf had managed to clean out the wound enough for him to tie it across her head.

"You what? No, Bilbo saved me, we were lost in a deep cavern with this disturbing little creature. And…"

A look of understanding passed between the wizard and the dwarf, as Gandalf held her body in place and Fili grabbed her arm. Gandalf nodded twice and counted to three under his breath.

"And he...saved... ME! Earëndil and Valar above why didn't you warn me?"

Fili had pushed her arm up and into place, upon hearing the loud click as her joint connected with her socket he stepped back, out of reach as she glared at him and Gandalf.

"How indeed?" Asked Dwalin as he lent on his axe again.

Lostoriel and Bilbo shared a glance, the elf searching for some explanation of how he had just disappeared and the hobbit unwilling to say so now. Gandalf noticed the strange by-play and let a small smile on his face, hoping to break the tension that had settled over them.

"Never mind how, the important thing is that they're here. Alive." The wizard and dwarf helped her to stand. Her vision still swam a little, but the pain in her head had subsided. No doubt the working of Gandalf, she thought wryly. Lostoriel was overjoyed to see the wizard after almost two months.

Thorin stepped towards them, holding out her bow, "I believe that this belongs to you."

The dwarf schooled his features as her withering stare tore a gaping hole through his joy.

"Hannon le." Mumbled Lostoriel, unwilling to meet his eyes, his lying eyes, after the memory she had had in the cave all those days ago. She took the bow from his hands and stalked off towards Gandalf, comforted by the familiar presence of the wizard.

Bilbo laughed nervously only adding to the thick layer of awkward silence, as all their expectant eyes fell on him to explain.

Lostoriel watched him intently, she hadn't seen Bilbo when they left the cave, but he had somehow grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her halfway down the mountain. She had many questions for him, Hobbits didn't just turn invisible, from what he had told her about them, they had no magic at all.

The Hobbit held his hips and discretely slid a golden ring into his pocket.

So that's what he used to escape Gollum, thought Lostoriel, staring at him in a mixture of amazement and concern. Magic rings were few and far between to come by nowadays and those that were left held nothing but trouble. She had felt something in the caves, a faint glimmer of darkness and it gnawed at the edge of her thoughts. Gandalf seemed to be thinking along the same lines and shared a disconcerting look with her.

"Well, what does it matter? He's back! They both are!" the wizard joyfully exclaimed, hoping that Thorin would drop the subject.

Lostoriel beside him already had her hand resting on her dagger and glared dangerously at Thorin. Not because he doubted Bilbo, but because he had left her to die all that time ago in Erebor and had had the nerve to try and act as if it didn't happen.

"It matters!" The biting edge of his voice disappeared, but his stony expression remained, "I want to know: why did you come back?"

Thorin stepped menacingly close to Bilbo, but the hobbit didn't shrink away. He knew it was time he stood up for himself. A humourless smile tugged at his lips at Thorin's relentless inquiring. He couldn't believe that the dwarf would think that he was so weak. So fragile.

Bilbo bounced on his heels, swallowing nervously as he gathered what courage and dignity he could and stood tall. "Look," he levelled with Thorin. "I know you doubt me, I know you always have. And you're right, I often think of Bag End. I miss my books. And my armchair. And my garden. See, that's where I belong. That's home. And that's why I came back, 'cause you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can."

The dwarves, elf and wizard stood in stunned silence gawking at the petite hobbit in the middle of the lose circle. A surge warm affectation swelled in their chests for the hobbit. Lostoriel noticed the strange, happy twinkling in their eyes. The hobbit had found his place amongst them. He was one of them. Lostoriel squeezed his shoulder affectionately, sharing a knowing smile with Gandalf. Truly changed from the frightened, complaining hobbit he had been and it sent a flood of pride and affection soaring through Lostoriel as she smiled at Bilbo, squinting as the dying light of the sun flooded the forest.

It quickly faded as she looked to Thorin who had his head lowered in shame. Lostoriel didn't know if she could travel with Thorin any longer. Not when he had gained her trust, then her friendship all on the basis of hiding the truth.

There was no time for her to confront him when she heard the rushing sound of heavy footfalls and panting from behind them. The gruff rumbling of Black Speech grated at her ears, the orcs had found them.

"Gandalf, someone's coming!" Just as the words left her mouth hair-raising howls pierced the air and a steely voice echoed down the mountainside.

Gandalf shared a worried look with Thorin, their minds racing along the same lines.

"Out of the frying pan," rumbled Thorin, his hand resting on the hilt of Orcrist.

"And into the fire. Run!" Exclaimed Gandalf, whipping back his long robes and running as if the hounds of hell were at their heels.

Lostoriel stumbled after them, every step jarring her shoulder and head. She managed to sling her bow over her good shoulder and sheathed her sword as gravity pulled at their bodies. An off-pitch melody of howls rang in time to the beat of the pounding steps of the wargs, the guttural of their commanders voices sang in harmony with the deadly tune and spurred the Company on as the hordes of hell nipped at their ankles.


	14. And of that Done to Survive

The trees thinned out and Lostoriel caught flurrying glimpses of the mountain ranges stretching out to either side of them. The elf hadn't noticed that she'd stopped running when a warg nearly crashed into her. Lostoriel instinctively reached for an arrow, turning to look over her shoulder and growling in frustration when she realised that she had lost her quiver and arrows in Gollum's cave. Instead she unsheathed her sword, the rasping of metal on metal comforting her as she ran, twirling backwards and darting her sword out at the wargs when they leased expected it.

All around her chaos had exploded upon the mountainside. The warg scouts were snapping and lunging at the dwarves as they ran with all they had to the edge of the mountain. The ground climbed upwards, littered with towering pines and then sloped dangerously off several sharp ledges and dropped down a sheer cliff.

Dwalin leapt over a long slab of rock, throwing his axe over his head and the sharp blade biting into its skin. The dwarve's axes and swords hacked and slashed at the beasts as they retreated into the worst possible position they could. Lostoriel gritted her teeth as she jerked her sword free from the hideous warg and turned to face the great, brown beast that snapped viciously at her.

"Lostoriel! Behind you!" Screamed Bilbo as a warg lunged at the elf. Its huge fangs nearly biting her head off. The elf whirled around, her sword flashing amber in the dying sunlight and thrusted the blade into its mouth, pushing it up with all her strength until the creature collapsed into a furry heap.

She pulled her sword from its jaw, the silver blade now stained red in the evening light. Lostoriel nodded her thanks to Bilbo who had ducked beneath a rocky outcropping as the warg's leapt into the air around them.

The elf aimed and threw her dagger into the eye of another warg without much thought and tucked and rolled as a second creature bounded over her.

Bilbo had gotten his sword stuck in another wargs skull, after it had run headlong into the blade. Lostoriel would've laughed as the hobbit pressed his foot into the creatures head as he tugged it, had it not been for the wargs that were closing in around them. Instead she rolled her eyes and shoved him aside, pulling out the sword and practically throwing it into his hands. "Get up into the trees! Quickly!"

"Up into the trees, all of you! Come on, climb! Bilbo, climb!"

"They're coming!" yelled Thorin as the entire warg pack descended upon them, growing and yapping hungrily at them.

The Dwarves leapt into the trees in a stunning show of acrobatics, swinging around the branches by their legs, hoisting each other up by the waist or by their axes and clambering up the trees with unexpected flourish and grace. Thorin ran over the bent back of Dwalin, leaping for the nearest branch like an oversized flying squirrel as Nori swung himself by the arms and flipped from one branch to the next. Lostoriel stood gaping at their precise skills as they bolted up the trees, reaching the highest and thinnest branches with the ease that only Woodelves could have achieved. It truly was a sight to behold.

Bilbo needed no further prodding when the warg pack descended on them. Writhing, barking and howling in fury. Their enormous jaws snapping at him as they clawed at the tree trunks. He swung up awkwardly, clutching a low branch with all four limbs and hanging there like a confused squirrel.

Lostoriel had far less trouble bounding into the trees. The elf crouched on her toes and sprung up into the trees like a squirrel, bolting up several branches higher and watching with bated breath, ready to leap down and help him, as Bilbo rectified himself and stood on the thick bough, clutching the tree trunk like a small, furless bear.

Below her Balin and Thorin clung desperately to the thick trunk of the tree, Thorin's eyes darting about assessing their situation and trying to find some impossible way out of it. They could try to fight them off or they could leap off the cliff, he thought wryly, and save the orcs the satisfaction of killing them. Thorin gazed up through the branches at Lostoriel who frowned frustrated, seeming to come to the same terrifying conclusion. They were trapped.

The warg's below howled as one sending shivers up Lostoriel's spine as the orcs astride their hideously furry mounts bounded down the mountain. Lostoriel blanched, the orcs and their wargs were monstrous, mutilated and scarred for fashion and through battle. The monsters said to stalk about under the cover of night. They snarled and licked their lips hungrily as they watched the little figures hugging the trees, like baby birds waiting to be eaten. The elf loosened her sword from its scabbard and tapped her fingers impatiently upon the hilt, more than ready to leap down and end the dismal creatures before she became part of their midnight snack.

Then out of the shadows of the trees emerged an image from her deepest nightmares. His skin translucent light beneath the water, scarred and lethal. Leering at them from astride a snow-white warg. The orc stood taller and leaner than the rest, bulging muscles etched with deep, jagged patterns that stretched like a twisted mask crisscrossing on his face and across bare chest. From the remainder of an arm hung a distorted, giant fork and from his back curled the talons of thick iron bands that reflected the pale moonlight as it danced menacingly in his beady, blue eyes.

The orc strode forward, each step of his warg met the ground with foul intent as malice radiated off him. The Pale Orc swung his bulky mace experimentally, enjoying the feeling of the familiar weight in his hands as he stared down the dwarves. His eyes locking on someone below her. Lostoriel followed his gaze and failed to supress her horror. Her eyes nearly popping out of her skull when his face contorted into a twisted smirk as he stared at Thorin with nothing but pure hatred.

"Azog?!" The dwarf said breathlessly as he watched his oldest, most hated foe before him. Truly it could not be him? No ,he had killed him all those years ago in Moria. The beast that had beheaded his grandfather before his eyes, held up his head like a trophy and had taken the life of his little brother was surely dead.

Thorin's heart thudded wildly against his ribs as his mind swam in and out of memory. He was wrong. He was so terribly wrong. Azog was alive. He could not move, fear held him captive, his limbs lead and his mouth dry.

The Pale Orc leaned over the warg's massive head, stroking its long, matted fur, "Nuzdigid? Nuzdi gast?" the guttural rumbling of his words grated in Lostoriel's ears, she wished that she had no understanding of Black Speech. She chewed her top lip, now clutching white-knuckled onto the hilt of her blade. Fear. He could smell their fear radiating off them and he seemed to be enjoying their partial paralysis.

Lostoriel painstakingly inched down from her perch, making her way around the back of the tree towards Balin. They had no idea if the orcs had archers with them and she was not willing to find out. Azog had captured Thrain, Thorin's father and Lostoriel knew that if Thorin took on this orc himself that the entirety of his troop and that the army of goblins would be upon them before he could lift his sword.

The old dwarf caught a flash of movement out the side of his eye and briefly locked eyes with Lostoriel as she landed on the branch next to him without disturbing a single leaf. The elf had one foot on Thorin's branch, the other hooked around the curve of the trunk. Balin was secretly thankful that she had done this, he knew that he would not be able to hold Thorin back.

"It cannot be." Whispered Thorin, his face hiding none of the grief and burning fury that bubbled within his gut, swimming through every fibre of his being. The Pale Orc had had his father held prisoner for almost sixty years, the same amount of time he had been searching for him. Now. Now Thorin could not deny the fear that twisted his stomach, causing his hands to shake in fear or fury he did not know the difference as Azog pointed his terrible war mace at him and smiled, singling him out as his prized kill.

The wargs leapt upwards, clawing viciously at the tree branches, their bodies writhing in hunger as they jumped high, snapping the thinner branches in two and nipping at the Company's toes. The trees shook and swayed violently, their leafy boughs colliding with their towering companions. The dwarves screamed and shouted curses with every colourful word they were taught as they struggled to hold onto the swinging branches.

Then all hell broke upon them. The tree closest to the wargs, onto which Bilbo and most of the Company clung onto for dear life swung dangerously as three wargs scampered up into the lower branches. And sent the tree leaning precariously into the tree Thorin, Balin and Lostoriel now dug their nails into as a great moaning and crunching erupted from the ground as the first tree was uprooted itself. Lostoriel's heart dropped as the leafy giant tipped over and as if in slow motion, collapsed into their tree with a crash and the dwarves leapt from its branches onto their tree. But the dominoes were already in motion as the combined weight of at least eight dwarves, an elf and a hobbit caused the tree to groan with an ear-splitting crack. Sending the roots lifting from the ground and tipping the tree over into the tree Gandalf and the other dwarves were perched in, at the sharp edge of the cliff.

The orcs laughed menacingly, "Little birds trapped in the nest!" they cried.

Lostoriel scrambled up into the higher branches as the wargs continued to snap at their feet. They were closing in on them, there must have been more than ten wargs surrounding the base of the tree. Frothing and salivating.

Something whirred passed her ear, the heat brushing her skin ever so slightly as the glowing red fireball hit the ground with a satisfying thud. The flaming ball sent the wargs retreating and Azog reeling his warg back as Gandalf gave a short cackle of victory from his perch at the top of the tree.

"Fili!" he cried, as he threw down a flickering pinecone and the dwarf prince caught it easily in his hands, blowing on it to set the rest of the cone caught on fire before tossing it down to Kili, who threw the cone with all his might at the orcs below.

"Take that you miserable yapping dogs!" Yelled Lostoriel as Bilbo dropped a flaming pinecone into her hands and she flung the projectile onto the head of the nearest warg. The Company worked with momentous speed, pulling pinecones from the branches and flinging them up to Gandalf, who lit them up and sent them back down the tree for the rest to blow on and thrown onto the enemy below.

And soon a cascade of flaming pinecones hit the wargs and orcs with such viciousness that they were sent yapping and reeling away from the flames as their companions were burnt and killed. All around them burning pinecones pierced the night like a meteor shower, a ring of fire erupted around the trees, the acidic scent of burning fur caught their noses as the wargs retreated through the wall of flames. The orcs were pushed back but the Company was trapped. Their cheers of victory were hastily turned silent as the orcs took a collective, daring step forward.

"Come down little birds! Or you'll burn in your nests!" snarled an orc.

"Little boys should not play with fire!" called Gandalf from above, "Nor should they taunt this many Dwarves, or do you fancy the thought of your body missing its head?"

The orcs leered at them now, Lostoriel watched in satisfaction adding her cheers to the Dwarve's, which morphed into cries of fear as

A resounding crack split the air, the tree waned precariously from side to side, strained under their combined weight. Lostoriel gulped nervously seeing the night sky come into clear view as the tree roots burst forth from the ground.

"Oh shit!" she hissed, her stomach somersaulting.

The tree toppled over, gaining momentum as gravity pulled at it, crashing through the other trees and sending a wave of screams from those clutching on for dear life. The tree hit the ground with a sickening crack as it collided with the edge of the cliff. Hanging halfway over the dizzying drop below.

Gandalf had his legs wrapped around the tree, his back strained as he tried to keep, if he fell he would surely die. The ground was far below them, the trees at the bottom of the mountain were no more than pinheads on the ground and the river that he spotted out the corner of his eye was nothing more than a line in the sand. The wizard shoved his foot deeper into the wedge between the tree and the branch and hoped that their help would arrive soon.

Dori and Ori hung precariously onto each other. Ori gripped his brother's thigh with all he had as Dori squeezed his eyes shut, seeing red and not the bottom of the ravine. His fingernails dug into the bark of the thin branch as he struggled to hang on, his little brother's body weight painfully pulling at his tendons and joints.

"Ori hold on!" He yelled as brother slipped further down his leg and then onto his ankle. The weight of Ori's body was too much and Dori found himself slipping down the branch and falling into the air.

"Mister Gandalf!" He shouted desperately and the wizard's staff came down just in time to grab onto it and he yelled again through gritted teeth as Ori dangled like a pair of on a tree.

Lostoriel had fallen onto the other side of the tree. Her fingers dug into the loose sand at the edge of the cliff and her other arm, the newly relocated one was wrapped around a branch. Her legs dangled in the air, trying to find a solid foothold in the rock. She refused to look down into what she knew would be her death. The height between where she hung and the ground far below was dizzying, she had fallen to temptation and watched how tiny the world seemed from up here.

Her muscles burned and she could feel her shoulder sliding out of the socket. Again. The shocking pain blinded her for a second, she shook it off, locking her jaw as she painstakingly unhooked her arm from the branch and pushed herself upwards.

Someone grabbed onto her jerkin, pulling her up with a mighty shout. Bifur had one arm slung around the branch hanging over her and the other gripping the back of her jerkin. He called down to her, encouraging her to push herself upwards, though she did not understand him she saw the desperation in his eyes and refused to give up. He willed his muscles to contract with everything he had as Lostoriel managed to bring one leg up and over the edge of the cliff. The weight became lighter as she tumbled head first into the thin pine-needles.

Lostoriel shoved herself as far from the cliff as possible, she reclined against the tree trunks, unable to turn as one trunk towered over the other and the branches crisscrossed above her. Somehow, through the branches she caught Bifur's eyes and nodded her thanks, before searching for a way out of the strong pine scented trap she found herself in.

Splinters of wood bit into her palms as she rose to a crouch beneath the boughs, seeing someone's shadow rise above her. The pine needles poked her head and got tangled in her hair as she caught a glimpse of dark hair wafting in the wind and the amber glint of a broadsword flickering above her. Thorin glanced down between the needles and saw her gazing back up at him.

Horror clutched her heart. It was Thorin. She watched with bated breath as he slung his oak branch shield across his arm and bowed his head lowly before he spun on his heel and charged at Azog the Defiler. His heavy footfalls shook the tree as he stomped along its length. Lostoriel resisted the urge to yell at him as the thinner branches got entangled with bow, her scalp tingled and stung painfully as her long hair got snagged around the bristles.

Lostoriel heard Thorin's war cry rise above the cackling of the flames, accompanied by the gasps of fear that rose from the Company. She pushed and shoved the thicker branches out of her way, fighting with the thin branches tangled in her bow and winced when she managed to stand and the branches in her hair pulled her back down.

Hastily she turned to see how far Thorin had gotten when she heard his cry of pain and saw him being knocked down by the white warg. That idiot. She growled in her head. Ignoring the blinding pain from her shoulder, she grimaced at the tangled blond and brown and sighed in resignation. If she wanted to save Thorin, she had to lose some of herself.

Wasting no more time and sparing herself the pain she whipped out her dagger and sliced her braid in half. She paid no heed for the chunk of hair knotted in the trees and shot out of the tangle just as Thorin rose from the ground.

Lostoriel clambered over the tree trunks and faltered in her step as she watched Azog smash his mace across Thorin's face. The adrenaline pumped through her veins, mixing with the fury and rage she felt rise within her stomach as Thorin collapsed in a heap. Azog cried out in joy, as Thorin laid there barely moving, his breathing shallow. That was it. Lostoriel was not going to let him die. She caught a flurry of movement out of her eye and was charging at Azog before her mind could register what she was doing.

The tree shook as she sped across it, the scorching heat from the fire ignited the air flowing into her lungs as the walls of fire grew taller, licking up the trees and burning the branches. Lostoriel dodged the falling branches and momentarily locked eyes with Azog. The orc snarled, enjoying seeing the fire burning in her eyes, the icy determination and the satisfying hum in his mind that he'd enjoy ending the elf's life.

In her mind's eye the flames were contorting into Smaug's hideous face. In a flash the walls of Erebor rose around her, Smaug's massive snout lunged from the flames and made to decapitate her. Lostoriel wildly shook her head, it's not real, she told herself as she spun her sword in her hand. The curved blade catching the amber firelight as the warg held Thorin between its teeth, attempting to crush him. He knocked it in the head with the pommel of his sword and the warg threw him into the air. He landed with a crunching thud on a bed of flat rock. His sword clattered to the ground and this time Thorin did not get up.

Lostoriel watched in horror as an orc hopped off its warg and stalked hungrily towards Thorin. She was still too far away as the orc's jagged blade rested against Thorin's neck. Without thinking Lostoriel unsheathed her dagger and threw it at the orc, the blade embedded itself in the orcs shoulder with a wet thud, but still that did not stop it raising its sword over Thorin.

"Eärendil!" she cried, bolting towards the beast and threw her sword against his with a might clang! As a flash of brown and blue sped past her and Bilbo threw himself at the orc, knocking it out of the way. Bilbo stabbed the orc with his glowing, blue sword and stood over Thorin's limp body, waving his sword madly as Lostoriel stood behind him, her sword resting calmly at her side. She growled as Azog bared his teeth, commanding his fighters to kill them.

"Bilbo stay close to me!" she shouted just as an orc lunged at her. She brought her sword up, holding it high in the air and kicking out at the orc in his stomach. As he fell back she stepped towards him, pushing his sword down with hers in an arch and using the momentum to stab him up and under his armour.

Forgetting about Bilbo at her side she pulled her dagger from the fallen orc's shoulder and charged at the wargs snapping around them. She stabbed at the nearest one with her sword, burying it in its skull and easily pulled it out, spinning on her heel and cutting upwards at the its rider.

Injured yelps and howls erupted like a volcano behind them. Lostoriel whipped around to see Fili, Kili and Dwalin slicing and stabbing their way through the snapping and biting wargs and orcs.

Bilbo and her remained standing before Thorin, the hobbit swinging his sword in all directions, clumsy hitting any orcs that came near him. Bilbo thrusted his sword into its stomach and pulled out the blade not knowing what to do next when Lostoriel was by his side. Her sword moved in a blinding flash that sent the orcs head tumbling and its body crumpling to the ground. She had no time to relax as another orc astride its warg jumped off the high rocks and knocked her on her side, the sheer force of its massive paws hitting her sent her flying across the clearing. Her sword clattered to the ground far away from her as Lostoriel landed with a pained scream on her already injured arm.

"Lostoriel!" came Bilbo's vague cry as she lay still, her shoulder erupted in pain as she attempted to move. The small fray seemed to dim around her, the horrid noise of metal on metal grated at her ears, the heat of the flames had no warmth for her. Lostoriel groaned, painstakingly rolling onto her side, she wished that she could just lay down again and let the battle go on around her. But Bilbo was alone and vulnerable and she had no intentions of letting the innocent Halfling die. The warg that knocked her down now bounded over to her and stalked towards her, saliva dripped from its snout and she could smell its foul breath from where she lay. Her heart fluttered uncontrollably, this was it, Lostoriel tried again to push herself up by her hands, but the pain was too great. Just as she held herself up the warg pinned her down by one massive, black paw, knocking the air out her lungs. Its warm saliva spluttered over her face and she was sure that at least two of her ribs were bruised. Again.

The warg's snout grew closer on her neck, its long whiskers tickled her skin and its hot breath blew into her hair. She did not want to die this way, but as it reared back to open its wide snout, Lostoriel caught a flash of leather boots and felt the weight knocked off her back.

Fili had run straight into the warg, knocking it over using his shoulder and head. The warg never stood a chance as Fili stabbed it in the jaw and it collapsed unceremoniously in a giant heap of fur. Its rider leapt off its mount and dove at Fili who finished off the orc with two sweeping strokes of his twin blades and just that orc fell another warg rider appeared. And Kili appeared with it, his sword moving in lightning fast strokes , easily taking down the wargs and orcs, whilst his brother twirled in a dangerous circle brandishing his blades in a dangerous twirl its rider Kili hot on his heels finishing them off as Dwalin ploughed a clear like through their lose group.

Hope swelled in Lostoriel's chest and she was galvanised into action, pushing herself up in one swift motion, gritting her teeth the entire time. Immediately seeing her rise a warg lunged for her, its jaws snapping in the air. Lostoriel nimbly stepped to the side as the warg passed overhead, she caught a glimpse of her sword lying in close reach through the chaos, but she was too far away and the warg had turned to face her with nothing but murderous intent.

"Fili! Blade!" she cried as the warg sprinted towards her, she hoped that the dwarf had retained one or two of his perfectly hidden daggers and knives. If he hadn't then she was about to become the wargs midnight snack and that did not bode well with her. The metal blade sliced through the air, flying in a high arc over her head and embedded itself in the first warg's forehead with deadly precision, just as Bilbo appeared yelling and stabbed the warg from under its neck.

The beast fell and Bilbo stood there heaving for breath, looking up at Lostoriel and hoping that she didn't notice the way his hands shook. First he had seen Thorin fall and then her, the hobbit had had enough of his friends almost dying.

Thank you!" she cried over their raging cries and pulled the small knife from its face. She squeezed Bilbo's shoulder reassuringly, seeing his entire form quivering like a leaf. This was his first real fray, her eyes widened as she watched the fear in his eyes.

"I won't let them get to you." Bilbo merely nodded at her, watching how the three dwarves were slaying the majority of the wargs and orcs with unnatural ease and speed. "It's okay to be afraid Bilbo."

Lostoriel's voice brought him back into the present and he squared his shoulders, nodding again as he didn't trust his voice to sound as confident as he need to be. Seeing that he was ready Lostoriel held his gaze, having the utmost confidence and kindness in them and took off running. Bilbo was hot on her heels as she ducked to pluck her sword from the ground and nimbly dodged the orc that had jumped in front of them.

Lostoriel spun her blades in her hands, levelling her sword with its neck and her knife with its heart and in one swift stroke the orc fell and her blades came away black with its blood. Bilbo watched in horror and amazement as she threw the knife at a grey wargs head and in a flash had stabbed the beast in the throat and was spinning on her heels to meet their next opponent. He never wished to be on the other end of her sword, she moved with such grace it was as if she danced, her sword an extension of her arm.

Bilbo spun around at the sound of heavy footfalls behind him. His heart raced in his chest and he gripped his sword white knuckled, breathing in deeply as he swung it around threateningly. The orc was not threatened and he lunged for the hobbit who broke off in a run towards the orcs chest, his sword held above him like a javelin as the orc ran straight into it.

Lostoriel glanced beside her, pulling out her sword from an orc, satisfied that Bilbo was holding his own against a particularly large orc she turned her attention to Azog. Her eyes widened in horror as she saw that Azog was not where she had left him, but was stalking towards Bilbo astride his terrible warg. The furry beast licked its lips hungrily at the tiny figure who had been knocked to the ground by another warg.

Fili, Kili and Dwalin stood back to back, the trio working as one well-oiled machine, lunging, hacking and stabbing at the wargs as they tried to get closer to Bilbo. Kili fell, a warg standing on his chest, its frothing mouth about to bite him when Dwalin tossed it aside with a massive swing of his axe. Lostoriel was impressed by Dwalin's skill and rather terrified as she caught the dangerous glint in his eyes, dwarves were renowned for their battle rage.

Lostoriel swallowed nervously, not bothering to waste another second watching the scene unfold and sprinted towards Bilbo, crying out as she did so to distract Azog from where he leaned over the warg's back.

A feral smile split his hideous features as he turned his warg to face her, recognizing the challenge in her steely blue eyes, the fire silhouetted her scowling face and he grinned manically. It was too easy.

Lostoriel stood ready, her sword suspended in a dangerously at her side , she set her jaw, rolled her shoulders back and ran headlong ay the orc as he dug his knees into the warg's side and spurred it on. Leaping over the bodies of its fallen brothers it lunged at Lostoriel. The elf twirled out of the way, as Azog aimed for her head. Lostoriel ducked just in time, narrowly missing the war mace as Azog swung it in a backwards arc.

The white warg landed with unnatural grace and spun growling for her blood. Lostoriel made a run for the boulder in the centre of the clearing, hearing Azog's taunts from behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder once and ran straight into the white warg that had crept up behind her. Without thinking she thrusted her sword beneath her arm and pushed, feeling the blade embed itself in whatever part of the warg. Lostoriel made to turn around, but something forcefully pulled her back by her hair.

She yelled as Azog yanked her backwards with his pronged hook. She barely registering the pain as he lifted into the air, holding her by the neck, her feet dangled helplessly as he tightened his grip on her throat. Her face reddened, she tried to kick at him, but he was too far back. His gravelly laughter echoed in her ears as she struggled to breathe, his fingers pressed into her flesh and her lungs burned for air. Lostoriel clawed numbly at his hand, managing to pull his fingers from her throat as the world began to blur around her and she thrusted her elbow up and out, hearing a satisfying crack where it collided with his nose.

Azog threw her to the ground where she landed with a resounding woof! Lostoriel pushed herself up, gasping and wrenching for all the air she could. She rubbed her throat where Azog had held her, a thick band of red swelled around where his fingers had bruised her.

Lostoriel screamed, though it came as more of a whisper as she was kicked in the back, Azog pressed a knee into her lower back. As he bent forward Lostoriel's lungs screamed for air and her heart pounded as the space of her chest compressed beneath with every second.

The orc snarled at her as he bent over her, pulling her head to face him. His eyes filled with nothing but black malice and hatred. And snatching her braid in his hand. His crooked teeth filled her vision as he grinned and she caught a whiff of the stale odour of the orc. Lostoriel grabbed her sword from beside her, only to be stopped when the Pale his other boot on her hand. Crushing the hilt dagger in her palm. Lostoriel resisted the urge to scream, to give him the satisfaction as he crushed her hand and brought his blade up to her hair.

No, he decided, he would not kill this one. Not yet.

He her eyes as he cut through her golden locks with one clean swipe and held the already shortened braid in her face. Lostoriel tried her best to hide her pain, whatever dignity within her fading as she watched him wrap her hair around his wrist. It was a trophy for him. A victory to have defiled the beauty of the Firstborn whom the orcs despised above all else.

Then rage filled her mind. Un-stoppered, livid rage and the elf hooked an arm around the orc's leg and pushed up with what strength she had and sent Azog tumbling off balance. She took advantage moment to painfully roll to her side grab her sword and stabbed him in the shoulder as the orc aimed for her heart. Lostoriel let the adrenaline fill her and she leapt to her feet, bringing her sword in an uppercut and sliced into Azog's bicep, sending the orc reeling back with his warg in tow.

Behind her she heard Bilbo's terrified scream and whipped around to find him hopefully uninjured. But the hobbit was nowhere to be seen. Just then a screeching filled the air, thundering and high pitched as the eagles began to swoop down on the mountain. Picking off wargs and dropping them into the valley below, or sending them tumbling into the massive mountain fire. Batting their wings to fuel the flames and deplete the enemy numbers as they pulled the dwarves out the trees and sent them falling onto the backs of their winged companions.

Lostoriel looked on in amazement as the Eagles waged battle around them and grinned as Azog stared in disbelief as his small platoon was killed off before his eyes. The elf almost laughed as he clutched his shoulder where she had stabbed him and roared viciously in Black Speech. He looked pathetic to her. Lostoriel wanted nothing more than to run up behind him and finish him off, to make him pay for what he had done. And yet something held her back. No, he was not her enemy to kill.

Lostoriel took advantage of the moment to run and grab her bow and go back to stand Thorin as the eagles circled overhead. He still had not moved, she leaned down to check his pulse and inhaled sharply when it fluttered beneath her fingertips.

"No, no Thorin. Come on, stay with me." she croakily urged him to stay alive. Lostoriel had no time to begin compressions on his chest when the flames licked the trees and thick shrubbery around them. The heat swelled in a great wave with every wind from the eagles caused them to tower higher and higher until the forest fire was visible from miles around.

The elf shrank away from the flames, nearly shuffling onto Thorin. She shielded them both from the flames as Smaug's great snout snapped at them. Lostoriel blinked away the illusion, feeling her heart race in her chest. The heat from the fire awakening cruel memories. The dragon's face haunted the flames no matter how much she attempted to shake herself clear of it.

Then huge talons hooked around her, plucking her clean off the ground and taking her high above the treetops. The elf gasped as she was airborne, which quickly turned into a hoarse scream as the eagle dropped her into the cold air. The wind rushed passed her face as she plummeted into the valley. Lostoriel was sure her lungs were going to burst and her heart pounded sickeningly in her throat. The ground was getting closer with every second, she was sure the eagle had left her to die.

She was wrong. Lostoriel landed with a muffled cry on the massive, feathered back of an eagle. The eagle squawked its greeting, twisting its head to see her as it registered the presence of an elf on its back.

She was too stunned to answer and nodded, though Lostoriel expected it was more of a bounce than a nod. She was too distracted to care about greetings. She hadn't seen Bilbo being plucked off the ground, nor Thorin.

Thorin, Lostoriel leaned forward on the eagle, stretching as far as she could to see the talons of the other eagles. A stout pair of hairy legs hung from one and from the other dropped a dwarf, yelling and kicking as it landed on a second bird.

High in the navy sky the dwarves rode low on the backs of the Eagles, even Bombur who seemed to be gripping the eagle's feathers with too much strength. Lostoriel noticed Gandalf riding ahead of them on the most majestic Eagle she had lain eyes upon. It was Gwaihir. There was only one eagle who rode with such grace and terror upon the winds. An ancient legend, heard by many but seen by few.

That's when she saw him. His mop of black hair floating in the air and his body held limply in the tangerine talons of the eagle.

"Thorin!" Shouted Lostoriel, hoping that he could hear her. But there was no response, only the bristling of the eagle under her. The elf couldn't help the pang of guilt in her chest, had she not been so angry with him, the fight would have ended much faster and Thorin would have remained unharmed.

"What is it that you require my lady?" Rumbled the eagle beneath her. His voice was like rolling thunder that nearly caused her to topple straight off him.

Lostoriel "How close can you get me to the dwarf hanging over there?"

"Not very close, but we can fly beneath them." She felt the bird stiffen, "I am Landroval and I suggest you hold on young princess."

Lostoriel gripped tightly to his enormous, brown feathers as he shot off like an arrow and flapped his wings. The noise reminded Lostoriel of tarpaulin fabric billowing in the wind as the pushed up against the wind.

Landroval was now just below the eagle that carried Thorin. Lostoriel could see that his injuries were bad. Blood seeped through his clothes and it didn't look was breathing properly. She knew that there was nothing she could do to help until they were on the ground again.

"Thank you mellon!" She called over the wind and Landroval descended to fly below the Eagle that carried Thorin for the remainder of their flight.

The world stretched far and wide beneath them as they soared on the crisp wind that would bring the first days of autumn. Lostoriel leaned back to gaze at the stars above her, she fancied that if she stretched far enough she could reach up and grab them, climb them like stairs to the moon and watch the world pass below.

"Mellon-nin, where will you set us down?" She asked, hoping that the bird would hear her above the wind.

"To the Great Shelf your highness!" A slight smile pulled at her face at the sound of the rolling elven words. Eagles were renowned linguists and spent many days in the great fields of her father's kingdom conversing with the elves and flying them high above their trees. She and Legolas had once gone searching for their nests in their youth, they and their friends had spent many days exploring the lands outside their home until they found the mountains that the eagles lived in. Far from the sight or knowledge of the men and elves that lived far below.

* * *

The Great Shelf came into view. It was a massive, flat plateau of rock that ran for miles as far as the eye could see. And it steadily sloped towards the earth in great, jagged steps that neatly clipped off the Misty Mountains and stood blue against the twilight.

Upon it Lostoriel spotted the first of the dwarves and eagles to land as she and Landroval slowly descended. The tarpaulin flapping of the eagle's wings deafened her as he roughly grasped onto the ground with his claws and lurched forward, narrowly avoiding hitting his winged companion beside him.

Landroval bent low and tipped to the side allowing Lostoriel to gently slide off his back. The elf landed with a soft thud and inhaled sharply as she saw Thorin lying prone on the ground. Hastily she turned and bowed before the eagle, giving him a quick thanks and bolted off to the Dwarf's side.

She a halt, sending a flurry of dust behind her as she knelt beside him. Lostoriel touched two fingers to, releasing a pent up breath as she felt the too slow pulse flutter dangerously under his skin. Lostoriel could feel it straining, "No, no Thorin stay with me. Mithrandir what do we do?"

Gandalf ran to them, pushing back his robes and running a hand over Thorin. He pursed his lips under his fluffy beard. He turned to the elf, "Nothing I fear, he is fading quickly, but I may yet be able to save him."With that he ran his hand over Thorin's face, softly uttering a string on unintelligible words.

She sighed with a heavy huff as Thorin's pulse flickered back to life under her fingers, a steady rhythmic beat that settled the nausea in her stomach. A ghost of a smile passed over Gandalf's face "He is not out of the woods as yet, he still needs to wake up. And it looks like Azog's little dog got of his arm."

Lostoriel began unbuckling his leather armbrace when she felt the small pouch she carried under her shirt hit her skin. Her lip quirked to the side, "Miruvor." She said in wonder, nearly laughing at her carelessness.

"Of which we have none. Unless you intend to fly to MirkWood and bang on the door after a century."

Lostoriel rolled her eyes, unhooking the strap of the pouch at her side and pulling it out from under her jerkin.

"Thorin!" Fili shouted, coming towards them with Kill hot on his heels.

"Uncle! Is he?" Kili gazed hopefully into her eyes as he knelt beside her.

"He's badly injured, but your uncle will be fine Kili." She coughed at the dryness in her throat and turned to Fili, "life up his head please."

"What are you going to give to him?" He asked, gently lifting Thorin's heavy head onto his leg. Hating the fact that his uncle's breathing was slow and that he felt cold to the touch.

"Miruvor." She un-stoppered the oval leather pouch as Fili pulled Thorin's jaw down and she leant over him. "It's an elven drink for travelling. Helps to keep up our strength when we're injured or weary. Hopefully it will help."

By now the rest of the company were gathered in a lose circle behind around them, watching with bated breath as Lostoriel tipped the bottle over and let the liquid, turned silver by the light from Gandalf's staff , trickle into his throat. As she did so she sang softly, an ancient song from the West, taught to her by Merenon long ago.

A pale white light gently glowed around her as Thorin involuntarily swallowed the liquid. Her words echoed softly around the great expanse of rock. The Eagles stopped picking their wings and squawking to. They had not heard a woodelf sing for many a year, nor had they had they honour of seeing one healing a dwarf no less.

Lostoriel felt Thorin's heartbeat return to normal and allowed herself a small smile of victory. Her song ended in a whisper as Thorin's eyes gently fluttered open and he groaned softly, clearly in pain. The elf held a firm hand to his chest making sure he stayed lying down, they didn't know the extent injuries, nor did they have the medical supplies to see to him here. Lostoriel met Fili's eyes and she couldn't help but mirror the smile of relief upon his face. They both gently held Thorin down when he attempted to sit up.

"You are safe Uncle. We're here." Kili piped up grinning rather widely at Thorin as he held his uncle's hand. He looked as if he could have pounced and tackled Thorin into a hug right there and then.

She reached over and squeezed Fili's shoulder and left them alone to bask in their relief. There would be time for her and Thorin to talk and for her to decide if she would not rather turn back to Rivendell. But for now she needed to know where they were going and how on earth they were going to get down this mountain.

She had not noticed the several little fires that the Dwarves had lit, no doubt with the help of Gandalf since they had no flint and tinder. Many of the dwarves were already huddled around them, some- Bofur- already fast asleep.

She made her way to Gandalf, Bilbo and Balin who stood off to the edge of the cliff speaking in hushed tones not wanting to disturb the rest of their companions. As she strode to the small group she noticed the strange shapes of trees and shrubbery dotting the flat landscape, the firelight casted strange shadows beyond their camp. The eagles dominated the landscape, rising like enormous feathered hills as they nestled for the night near the dwarves.

As she came into earshot of them she became aware of how exhausted and thirsty she was. Lostoriel groaned as she moved her shoulder and the pain flared up, she touched her throat and recoiled at the tenderness of her muscles.

Gingerly she prodded at her ribs in front and back and gasped at how it ached. Her everything hurt and Azog had undoubtedly bruised her back when he knelt on her.

"We will not leave you near the villages of men. They will shoot us down with their arrows, thinking that we have come for their sheep." Gwaihir, the eagle, was perched on the edge of the sheer cliff as if it were a tree branch. Lostoriel greeted him in the traditional hand-to heart gesture. After her time in Imladris, the gesture had become surprisingly familiar and natural once again. She lowered as far as her bruised throat would allow. She met one massive amber eye with a slack jaw. They were truly magnificent creatures and they only helped those they deemed fit. To be in their presence was an honour for any elf.

"Gwaihir, Lord of the Eagles, we owe you our gratitude and lives for saving us from those foul creatures. If it had not been for the swiftness of your wings we would be dead no less." she greeted him with true words, knowing that the way to earning the Eagle's trust was through honesty and no short amount of compliments.

"Your highness!" Exclaimed Gwaihir startling everyone in the camp as his smooth voice boomed. He bowed lowly, one massive wing bent before him, his yellow beak barley touching the ground. After a moment he rose, "We did not expect to find you here alive and so far from your forest. How is this possible, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

Lostoriel smiled warmly, "Nor did I. I still do not know, however it is not a tale for the cover. "

The eagle opened his beak to speak again, but Gandalf cut him off before he could ask any more questions. Gwaihir was an old bird with a curious mind, nothing passed his sharp ears without him knowing the full story. He doubts that Lostoriel would spend the remainder of the evening telling him all about it. He gathered that from the way she gawked at him.

"The Carrock is still accessible is it not?" he asked leaning heavily on his staff.

"Indeed it is Master Gandalf." Answered the Lord of the Eagles, Its guardian will not be there this time of year. For the winds are too strong and the air biting."

Fili skidded to a halt, bowing deeply before the Eagle, his eyes widening in awe as he gauged the size of the bird.

"This is young Fili, Crown prince to the throne of Durin." Gandalf hastily introduced him, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.

"It is an honour young prince." Gwaihir allowed himself a smile that made Fili flush a bright shade of pink and find great invisible in the velvet darkness. He may have been brought up with the title, but being called by it still caused him great discomfort. As if a weight was set upon his shoulders and grew heavier each time he thought about the responsibility he carried.

Whilst he was musing on his title the eagle had carried on speaking, "We shall fly you over many leagues and leave you there. Hopefully your quarry will be delayed by the snow-caps behind us and-"

"That'll put us at least a day ahead of them. Which is all we need. The sooner we leave these mountains the better." said Balin, rubbing his hands together. The icy wind at this altitude did no favours for his old bones.

"Indeed it will Master Dwarf. We shall leave long before sunup. There are still a few hours until then, you may rest easy, my scouts have been sent to be a pestilence to the pale orc and his followers until we get you safely to where you need to be."

"And for that you have our gratitude Gwaihir." Gandalf lowered his head again, smiling, "Your wings have never failed your friends, nor shall they."

With that the little group dispersed, Bilbo, Fili and Lostoriel made their way to where Kili was watching over Thorin. Not willing to leave his uncle's side.

Immediately Lostoriel interrogated Bilbo, her voice hoarse and scratchy, "Never before have I met someone as reckless, foolhardy and downright irresponsible as you Bilbo Baggins!" She crossed her arms and glared at him, fiercely reminding him of his mother.

He stepped back startled at her ambush and nearly fainted when she bent down him in a bone crushing hug. "Never before have I been so grateful to have a courageous friend like you. You were incredibly brave on the mountain Bilbo, but don't you dare scare us again like that!"

For someone so small Lostoriel was strong as a bear, she lifted him off the ground. Bilbo turned red and tried to wriggle from her vice like embrace. Bilbo felt the tears welling in his eyes, that was high praise from her and all he could do was affectionately tap her on the arm. He thought he could hear his bones crack in his arms, he rasped "Lostoriel." His voice was tight, "Lostoriel...you...are...crushing...Can't!"

"Oh! Forgive me mellon-nin. Are you hurt?" Bilbo did not get a chance to answer as Lostoriel immediately set him upon the ground only for him to be crushed again by Fili. Bilbo didn't know what to do, he was not used to such open displays of affection. Not to say that he did not appreciate the love his friends had shown him, he just, did not know how to properly respond. For one thing he was grateful that Fili did not lift him into the air, however his blonde hair did find its way into his mouth and he thought it best that Fili never knew.

"Thank you Bilbo. You saved our uncle and for that we owe you are lives." The Dwarf stepped back and gripped Bilbo's forearm in the way that warriors do. The hobbit merely smiled and responded in the same manner. Not quite sure if he was doing it correctly.

"I… I would gladly do so again Fili." He righted his ruffled clothing and the trio made their way to Kili who yawned audibly, his eyes full of sleep. "I'm not hurt, Lostoriel. Just a bit bruised here and there I expect. Those wargs are heavier than they look."

"Indeed they are. I've had my fair share of scars from skirmishes, but if you want to see real scars you should ask Dwalin to show you the battle scars on his legs. Kili and I were still young when it happened. The first snows of winter had dawned upon Ered Luin and word had come of wolves in the forests at the feet of the mountains. Uncle and Dwalin had decided to take a troop of dwarves out to investigate…" Fili began the story that Dwalin would undoubtedly have killed him for telling as they sat around Thorin at the edges of the firelight. None of them wanting to leave his side as he lay there falling in and out of consciousness.

The four spent the remainder of the twilight exchanging stories in hushed tones about their childhoods with Gwaihir and Landroval who could not help but listen as Lostoriel spoke fondly of her adventures with Legolas. Thorin did not stir, it should have comforted them, but each time they caught his breathing faltering Fili and Kili could not help but think the worst. The night passed by hastily has the dwarve's snoring filled the air and one by one three of the four dropped off to sleep. Leaving Lostoriel leaning against Landroval''s warm body watching the stars pass by overhead. Somberly she combed her fingers through her crudely cut hair trying not to remember the flames that had awoken her memory of Smaug or the foul snarl of Azog as he brought his sword upon her head.

* * *

The world passed below as a picture of tranquility. The Company were soaring on the backs of the Eagles, high above the clouds where the rolling land below was a breath-taking still-life. The snowy mountains were an ocean of blue and white that stretched beyond the horizon where the sun was peaking. The navy night faded into the warm colours of the dawn that bounced off every available piece of earth below them.

And despite the grandeur of the low lands the Dwarves clung white-knuckled onto the Eagles. And onto each other. Had they not had so great a distance to travel and so little time, the dwarves would have trekked across the mountains. Where the ground was solid beneath their feet and their stomachs did not nauseatingly flip whenever they gazed below their boots.

Bilbo did not fare any better, the Eagle he rode upon squawked loudly each time the hobbit tightly grasped his feathers. Lostoriel grinned at him as he turned a several shades of green on the eagle beside Landroval. Bilbo returned the gesture with a miserable scowl, he hastily turned away, feeling the contents of his empty stomach churn dangerously.

Lostoriel leaned forward as Landroval flapped his great wings and they dipped below a low cloud. The Eagle shot back up like a feathered torpedo and Lostoriel winked at Bilbo. Who turned his withering gaze upon her and was met with nothing but hoarse laughter. The dwarves around her glared at her enthusiasm, their elf was having far too much fun for their liking.

Without warning Landroval dropped a few metres and flew so low over a mountain peak that Lostoriel imagined she could actually bend over and grasp a handful of snow. Then he rapidly ascended and Lostoriel grimaced at the strange floating sensation in her chest. They were thousands of kilometres into the sky and Lostoriel would have lied had she said that she felt the strong pull of vertigo when she looked down and saw the river Anduin coming to a standstill far below.

The Eagles led them further out of the Misty Mountains as the sun rose in the East. They dipped into the deep plunges of the waterfalls and rose high above the valleys. Lostoriel kept a keen eye on Thorin, who was clutched between the talons of Gwaihir above them. She hoped that he stayed unconscious until they landed on the Carrock, the idea of him having a heart attack in mid-air did nothing to calm her nerves. A gust of wind below against them and Lostoriel spluttered loudly as her hair flew into her mouth.

She shoved her hair behind her ears and ran her fingers through her locks. Glaring at the sky when she felt the tips stop short. The orc had committed a foul act of insult. Lostoriel cared about her hair like all elves, but having it cut in battle and taken as a trophy. It was a vile act. And along with Smaug's head, she now wanted to have the pleasure of removing Azog from his pestilent existence.

Shame. That was what stirred in her stomach and made the vulnerability climb upon her. Clinging to her skin. Sighing heavily Lostoriel reached for her hood, cursing under her breath when she remembered that her cloak was lost somewhere in Gollum's cave. She shuddered at the memory of the slimy creature and his foul cave.

In the foremost distance the Carrock rose from the flat land. A massive, towering, jagged plinth of ironstone eroded from the mountains from centuries of the harsh winter snowfalls and summer storms that blew in from the Misty Mountains. One by one the Eagles began their descent, flying in a massive spiral and perching on the flat surface of the Carrock.

Lostoriel was the last to land, she hopped lightly off Landroval''s back and bowed lowly with Balin. The rest of the Company had gathered around Thorin, who had still not awoken.

The elf was not yet ready to bid farewell to their companions, she was tempted to fly away with them. The elf turned to the lord of the Eagles, "Farewell mellon-nin. May the wind never cease to carry you swiftly and the light shine evermore on your journey."

"And to you. You are safe for now, but move whilst you still have the light." Gwaihir bowed, smiling down at the little folk before him. As his eagles began their journey homeward he plucked the smallest feather from his head and proffered it to the elleth. Lostoriel stood stunned for a moment, her jaw slack as she stared at the glistening white feather.

"I cannot."

"Indeed you can. It is a gift from my people to yours." The eagle urged her on, his eyes soft and welcoming. Lostoriel gingerly stepped forward and took the large feather from his talons. He allowed her one last honour by letting Lostoriel press her tiny forehead against his.

"Thank you." She whispered, stepping back as Gwaihir squawked with resounding vigor and tipped dramatically off the Carrock, spinning in mid-air and flying back to his nest. She studied the feather in her hands wondering what she was supposed to do with it. And she had no more time to contemplate the subject when Thorin's voice bellowed out.

"You!" The dwarf was standing, albeit shakily and pointing a finger at stunned Bilbo. Clearly Lostoriel had missed the commotion. "What were you doing?" he advanced dangerously towards Bilbo, "You, both of you nearly got yourselves killed!"

Thorin looked up into Lostoriel's eyes at those words and halted before Bilbo. Towering over the terrified Hobbit. "Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild and that you had no place amongst us?"

Instinctively Lostoriel moved beside Bilbo as Thorin shakily stormed towards the hobbit. Should he try anything, she would have her sword pointed to his throat without hesitation. Thorin grabbed the poor hobbit and pulled him into an embrace, "Never have I been so wrong in all my life! I am sorry I doubted you."

His eyes fell upon Lostoriel, whose jaw went slack at the odd sight before her. This was the Thorin she knew. One who was true to a fault and never hesitant to make amends. A dwarf whose friendship was nothing short of iron forged, loyal and unbreakable. Much like his people.

Bilbo returned the gesture, the strange warmth of friendship spread through his chest. He had finally been accepted into the tightly knit band of Dwarves, he had earned his place and the friendship of one he would gladly follow through any troubles.

Cheers and smiles spread across the little group of dwarves as Thorin finally let Bilbo go. The hobbit tried not to flinch as his muscles relaxed and he could breathe. He concluded that none of the big folk knew how to give a proper hug, one that at least wasn't meant to almost kill him each time. Bilbo's face reflected nothing but the honesty and humility he felt, "No, I would have doubted me too. I'm not a hero or a warrior, not even a burglar."

Lostoriel squeezed Bilbo's shoulder, "I think even the fiercest warriors are yet to compare with you Bilbo Baggins. You may surprise yourself as you have done so to us."

The hobbit was taken aback by her high words and could do nothing but gratefully squeeze her hand back. The elf stepped before him, angrily closing the distance between Thorin and her until she was a nose breath from his face. "Only you Thorin Oakenshield would be so reckless as to take on Azog on your own!"

Thorin flinched at the harshness both of her voice and at her new appearance. The thin red line where her hair hung in jagged lines reminded him of the nightmarish pixies he had once been told stories about. He opened his mouth to speak, ignoring the hushed whispers behind him about her almost fae appearance. Lostoriel cut him off before he uttered a word.

"You have doubted me, ridiculed me and made me feel lesser than I am." She ticked off the list on her fingers, "I care not for what you think of me, I was reluctant to believe what you had said about my father's actions, but I see it for what it is. And I am not him." Lostoriel inhaled sharply, not sure why she was saying this. "Nor am I my grandfather or any elf who does not wish to be in the friendship of Dwarves. They may have seen you as a lesser folk and I know not what my Adar has become, but…" she trailed off, hesitant to utter her next words. "But…" she sighed going against every urge that told her to shut up then and there, to let confront Thorin for what she had seen in the cave before they had fell. She knew then that turning back to Rivendell would be a mistake that would haunt her for the rest of her days.

Her shoulders slumped, "You and I were not always like this and I know that I have no right to suddenly appear after one hundred years and make any demands or requests on any of you. We have made mistakes, yes, however I am willing to put that behind us. " Lostoriel paused, holding out her hand to Thorin, meeting his eyes and the Company behind him. "If you would have me, I wish that we go on in friendship. I long to see that dragon dead and Erebor restored as you do. And I see now that together is the only way we may have peace, this ridiculous rift between our people will only hinder any chance we may have at it."

Her confidence wavered when Thorin stared apprehensively at her outstretched hand. Perhaps she had been too quick to offer her friendship and her sword. Lostoriel's eyes nearly popped from her skull when Thorin's rough hand grasped her forearm and he met her eyes.

"You are right. But you need ask nor apologise Lostoriel. It is me who was too blind to the truth." He flashed her a good natured grin, "Wraith or not, we need you and you us. We now go in friendship."

Thorin found himself beckoning the elf towards him. She complied, painfully bending forward as he grasped her shoulder and brought his forehead against hers. The Company fell into an awed silence. The gesture was reserved for family, friends and brothers-in-arms. To have their rightful king levelling in such a manner with an elf, welcoming her into their ranks as a friend was indeed a moment they would not forget for the rest of their days.

"Is that what I think it is?" Bilbo broke the moment, gazing out at something in the distant lowlands.

Thorin stepped passed Lostoriel following Bilbo's line of sight until his eyes fell upon the jagged conical form of a sight he never thought he'd see again. It rose from the horizon, grandeur oozing from the fog at its peak. His stomach fluttered, Thorin tried his best to ignore the pressure building behind his eyes. But it was no use.

"Erebor. The Lonely Mountain." Said Gandalf, his greybeard swinging in the wind. "The last of the great Dwarf kingdoms of Middle-earth."

"Our home." Thorin made no attempt to shy away from the tears that glistened in his eyes. There over vast ranges, forests and lakes was their home. His home. He felt two hands on either of his shoulders and knew it was his nephews behind him. The old dwarf laid his hands on theirs, smiling for joy filled every ounce of his being. He stole a glance at the elf beside him. Lostoriel had the same mixture of longing and elation upon her face.

The sweet chirping of a bird filled the awed silence as the little creature twittered past them. "A raven! The birds are returning to the mountain." Exclaimed Oin, grinning as he held his smashed hearing trumpet to his ear.

Lostoriel followed the bird. The sunlight bounced cheerfully off its wings as it fluttered above, hastily flying on the wind to Erebor. As the bird became a black dot against the blue sky her eyes fell on a sight that set her heart fluttering like birds wings. The vast viridian expanse of Eryn Galen stretched as far as the eye could see before the horizon. She laughed giddily. Her home, her family was within hands reach. All traces of darkness and pain left her as she openly let her eyes cloud over with tears.

"…Oin, is a thrush." She barely heard Gandalf correcting Oin on the easy mistake he had made. Thorin stepped forward, wanting nothing more than to fly with that thrush across the land.

"But we'll take it as a sign. A good omen." Said Thorin.

"You're right." Bilbo didn't dare take his eyes off the Lonely Mountain. The solitary peak he had only ever seen on maps had his entire being itching for the adventure that would follow. "I do believe the worst is behind us."

It was precisely at this moment when Lostoriel felt her stomach drop and the world spun beneath her feet. Not now, she groaned internally. From the edges of the Carrock sprang waterfalls, gushing and hissing down into the lowlands. The ironstone grew into plush emerald grass, daisies dotted the ground and she found herself moving towards the edge of the waterfall at the cliff. The pendant around her neck warmed her chest and on the wind there came the soft, female voice she'd heard before. Again as in Rivendell, the stars flew overhead as the ancient lullaby filled the air.

"Who are you?" she dared to ask, searching the surreal sight around her. The song did not stop, it played at the edge of her memory. The moving form of a brown head of hair blurred at the fringes of her memory. A lithe form dancing freely in a meadow, she was so familiar. So calming that Lostoriel could have observed her for hours on end. "I know that I know you, but will you not show yourself?"

Lostoriel jerked as someone yanked her backwards and sent them both stumbling blindly. She blinked back the stars from her eyes and was met with Bilbo's concerned gaze. He looked at her in expectation. "I'm sorry Bilbo. I didn't quite catch what you said?"

"Oh. Uhm…" Lostoriel became aware that the sun had risen high above the horizon and that the Dwarves, Gandalf included were staring at her as if she had lost her mind. "We were just wondering who you were talking to?"

Gandalf came towards her, unnerved by the wildness in her eyes and the way her hands shook uncontrollably. Lostoriel steadied her breathing, now noticing that the Company were ready to make their way down the staircase that wound around the Carrock to the ford below. Thorin leaned heavily on Dwalin, clearly not fine. And Bombur –surprisingly- and Kili were already on Gandalf's heels as he stopped before her.

"I don't…I do not know."


	15. In the Quiet of the River

He stood outside the towering wooden doors that led to his father's study. Unsure if he wanted to see what lay beyond the doors this night. Word had come to him towards the end of his patrol shift from Lord Merenon, one of his father's most trusted friends that the king had not emerged from his study for the better part of two days. He had not slept, or eaten and hadn't uttered a word to anyone. Not even to Galion or Lady Astordil.

That was what glued Legolas's feet to the floor. His father had only shut himself away from the world and from Legolas when his mother and sister had died. He didn't know if he was ready to see his father in that state. He had left his patrol the day he had that vision in the midst of battle and had stumbled upon Lord Merenon in the woods. He had come searching for Legolas's patrol and had accompanied him back to the stronghold.

Legolas brought his hand up to knock, but halted above the wood. He knew he had to do this. What he had felt and seen in the forest kept him up at night. It invaded every available moment of his consciousness and he needed to know what he had seen and if his father knew what it was.

The two guards that stood on either side of the doors barely glanced at him, used to the strange ways of their prince. They had witnessed Legolas in every state and form coming through those doors. From trailing mud and grass into the hallways, and to the many other times when he stumbled through barely coherent and bleeding profusely. However, seeing him hesitate to knock on the door concerned them and they shared a look of uncertainty between them.

Legolas ignored the guards and sucked in a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and set his jaw. He could not stand here forever.

He softly knocked twice and stood rubbing his sprained wrist as he awaited his father's answer. Legolas sighed, hearing the rustling of parchment and the feint hum of his father's voice. The fact he was not completely silent sent a wave of hope running through the prince. His ada was still there. He knocked again, this time louder and with more force.

The humming stopped, "Come."

The doors swung open on their own accord. Legolas shuddered, two thousand years and he it still bewildered him. He strode confidently to his father's desk, taking in the undrawn curtains, the scattered books and parchment and several trays of untouched food that littered the room. He bowed his head , followed with the hand-to-heart gesture. and rising to find his father not concentrating on him, but on the dusty manuscript in front of him.

"Good Evening Aran-nin."

Legolas supressed a gasp of shock at the dishevelled state his father was in, his tired eyes widened, "Ada?"

Thranduil was hunched over the manuscript, one hand entangled in his wild hair that hung in every direction possible. His robes were hanging haphazardly off his shoulders and around the chair and his face seemed gaunt, almost old. His usually healthy pallor was now a pale shade of grey. Dark rings circled his eyes which held nothing but exhaustion. He distractedly tapped one foot against the stone ground and his other hand nursed a steaming hot cup. He barely registered Legolas's presence.

"Aran-nin." Came Legolas again, stern and commanding. He couldn't let his father spiral down again. This time Thranduil did look up and when he did, rubbed an eye tiredly with the back of his hand, unknowingly spreading a dark patch of ink over his face as he did so. Legolas suppressed a smile, seeing the weariness in his father's entire body. The prince stood at attention, ready to give his patrol report to the king.

"What news from the patrol, Captain?" Spoke Thranduil, shoving the book on the desk back as he gave Legolas his full attention. Or at least what little attention he had to spare for a moment. His eyes and ears lay ready to hear Legolas, but his mind whirred with questions concerning what he had read.

"The spiders are breeding rapidly in the lands outside Old Fortress. We caught them travelling northwards and managed to destroy six nests, but more keep coming. For every one nest we destroy we find two more elsewhere in the forest."

Legolas waited for his father to react, it was usually about now when a sarcastic comment was dropped into the conversation. But Thranduil just sat there, elbows leaning on the table, hands clasped together and his mouth pressed against them. "A greater number of orcs and wargs have been seen crossing the forest river, we fear what power that lies in that fortress is growing stronger. The orcs attempted to ambush us, but a great blue bear popped out of the woods and, according to Faelon, danced an absurd jig upon the head of a warg…"

He trailed off into silence, watching concerned as his father's gaze darted distractedly around the room. Clearly not paying attention to a word about the great blue bear and absentmindedly trailing back to the barely visible ink upon the manuscript in front of him. Sighing quietly Legolas unstrapped his weapons from his person and laid the bow, quiver and twin blades on the floor since every chair in the office was covered with a hazardous pile of parchment. The patrol report would have to wait. He had more pressing issues to deal with.

Legolas walked around the large oak desk and stood beside his father's high backed chair, leaning over his shoulder to read whatever it was his father was thoroughly pouring over. Thranduil barely registered his presence, whether he stood on his blind side or not.

"The Heirlooms of the house of Oropher." mumbled Legolas, squinting at the faded ink in the book. His eyes hurriedly scanned over the scrawling script and he inhaled sharply, his stomach growling ferociously. "Queen Caladwen."

Thranduil shifted uncomfortably in his chair, he did not speak often mother and hearing her name roll of his son's tongue was foreign to him.

"Why do you read on her?" Asked Legolas, though he already had an inkling of the answer and was sure it had something to do with the enormous wind that had blown through the woods. And with the thin, crimson stain on the floor, that smelt suspiciously like wine. This was not good. He needed his father to talk. To bring him out of whatever this was.

"Ion-nin. Come, sit." he gestured to a nearby chair. "There is much which we must discuss."

Legolas plans before they could speak. His stomach was empty, the last meal he ate having being a cold, rationed breakfast of lembas and dried meat. It rumbled again, rather painfully this time around and he made a beeline for the pile of silver platters piled on the other desk near the fire.

Thranduil watched amusedly as Legolas felt every single platter until he found the warmest one and grinned hungrily. His son and food had a strong bond that no one could break, except for peas. He had always hated peas, claiming they were too 'mushy' for his liking.

Legolas stood expectantly from his father to the desk. Thranduil hummed, raising both eyebrows at the unspoken command son. The look usually instilled fear into most elves, but he was sure Legolas was immune, or just hid his fear well.

"You need to eat." said Legolas, watching with great irritation as his father simply sat there cross armed and glaring at him. "Merenion and Galion and Astordil gave me strict orders to make sure you eat and if I did not, they threatened to come here and behead us both."

Thranduil snorted a laugh, a slight pang of worry flitted across his face. His friends could truly be a nuisance sometimes. "Well then I suppose we both eat. For the sake of the kingdom of course."

His own stomach roared when at the smell of roast chicken and vegetables when Legolas set the tray down between them. He cleared a chair of its parchment contents and pulled it to one side of the desk. Legolas shifted until he found a comfortable position, spending a month on the cold forest floor did no favours for.

"Don't even think about it." Thranduil glared at his muddy boots and then his face.

"Think about what?" Legolas flushed pink, fiddling with his hands, "I wasn't thinking of anything."

"Oh Valar help us all. If you put your filthy boots on that chair, you are cleaning it."

"Fine." Legolas relented, heaving a dramatic sigh and hastily undid the laces, toed them off and sat cross-legged on the chair. His father was already chewing with relish when he looked up again and reached for a piece of the juicy-looking butternut with the spare fork he had found. The pair fell into contented silence, enjoying the company of the each other after an entire month of being apart.

Though Thranduil did not say it often, he missed and worried for Legolas each time he left the palace to go on patrols throughout the forest. More often than not he had to restrain the uncatchable urge to keep him in the safety of the stronghold, where he could watch over him like a hawk and ensure he came back alive each evening. However he knew that Legolas had a responsibility to their people, to keep them safe and their home safe, even at the expense of his own life. Thranduil could ask no more of his son than that. He had once been prince, he had once known the leaden sense of duty and he knew that it had to be done.

Soon three-quarters of the platter had been devoured between the pair, Legolas finished off the last piece of the sweet seed bread and Thranduil leaned back nursing a cold, glass of aromatic red wine. He did not know how to broach the subject with his son and the longer Legolas took to eat, the longer he had to figure out how. He did not have to wait when Legolas took a deep draught of wine and the white bandage peaked out from underneath his vambrace. Thranduil gently grabbed his arm as Legolas set the glass down.

"Care to tell me how this happened?" His father pushed the vambrace back to reveal more of the thick band of bandage wrapped around his wrist. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Have you gone to Bronaduion yet?"

Legolas carefully pride his father's fingers from his wrist, smiling at the immediate love and concern and much needed distraction that his injury brought. He hoped his father would not see through the thinly veiled pain he was in. Legolas had also bruised his back and cracked a rib when he had fallen from the tree. And he had more pressing issues at hand other than seeing one of the head healers in the palace. Bronaduion was a strict, fearsome elf who instilled fear into the hearts of every warrior in the army and Legolas was unprepared to face him.

"I am fine Ada."

Thranduil harrumphed derisively and raised an unconvinced eyebrow at his son. Legolas was unfortunately prone to lying now and again about his wounds, especially if he didn't want his father to worry.

"Can't let me lie can you?" he laughed and stopped shortly when an ache ran through his chest. He shifted uncomfortably on the cushioned chair, "Sidhion saw to me well enough in the field. I have a bruised rib and back and a sprained wrist. But that is all Ada, I'll go see Bronaduion later. I uhmm…"

Legolas drew a deep breath, his ears turning red as he felt the embarrassment fill him. "I fell from a tree. But I'm alright, don't worry. It was not a high fall and Renieth said I was unconscious for only a few minutes."

Thranduil's frown deepened and his eyes searched for any hidden injury Legolas may have obtained. Legolas falling from a tree was as unheard of as the rain being warm and he could not help but worry. "How did this happen ion-nin? When? Are you sure you're alright? Do we need to go down to the healing ward now?"

"Calm down Ada. I am fine. I promise, please don't make me go to Bronaduion now. I'm only worried about you." Legolas leaned forward, giving his father the most serene expression he could muster. Thranduil sat rigidly, his son should never worry for him. "It happened during a skirmish with the spiders when that strong gale blew through the forest. At first I feared the worse, thinking that this had to do with the South. But then it crashed into us from the North, I was about to shoot one of those nuisance spiders when I…When I saw something."

Legolas's voice was soft and distant, fear swirled in his tired blue eyes as he paused, the words stuck in his throat. Thranduil's stomach churned, vaguely he could feel Legolas's distress and hoped that he had been mistaken in what he saw. Thranduil leaned forward and grasped he son's hand.

"What did you see, Legolas?" His voice thick with worry.

"I think it was a memory from when I was a child." Legolas looked up earnestly into his father's eyes, gripping Thranduil's hand. "There was someone singing a lullaby, the one nana used to sing to us. It swelled and flowed on the wind. And suddenly, as I was on the branch, the forest came back to life. The trees were alive, dancing and swaying in the golden sunlight and birdsong. Lush grass and flowers sprung from the dead ground and some kind of warmth spread from here."

He laid a hand over his heart, gesturing wildly as he recalled how the warmth had bloomed. "I felt them Ada. Naneth and… And Lostoriel…"

Silence filled the room, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Legolas saw his father's façade slip, his left eye turning milky white for a split second before he thinly regained his composure. "At first I did not think it was real, but when I hit the forest floor I saw them and hope swelled within me Ada. I don't understand how, but it was as if I could've reached out and grasped Lostoriel's hand. As if she were still alive…"

Still, his father said nothing. He simply sat there, staring distantly into the flames knowing that he had to tell Legolas about what he had found. Thranduil had felt the same warmth that Legolas described, as it had that night, the tsunami of emotions flooded his senses. Blinding him to all else except his son. His head spun and he let down every pretence of being altogether. It hurt too much to pretend, to mask what he felt behind the steel demeanor he draped himself in. He had been crippled by his grief for hours, lying half in a puddle of wine and tears Thranduil had not been able to pick himself up. He sat against his desk until the dawn shone through the greyness he felt within him.

"Ada?" Legolas gently shook his father's shoulder, searching for some sign of comprehension beyond the silver tears that trickled down Thranduil's face. "Why do you weep?" his voice was small, like he was a child again, comforting his grieving Ada with Lostoriel, both unsure of what they could do and only knowing that holding him and being with him stopped their father from slipping away from them.

The midday sun rose high in the sky, casting wonderful shadows through the windows. As the cool, autumn breeze fluttered around them Thranduil allowed himself a heavy sigh. He caught Legolas's hand on his cheek and lowered it, a watery smile quirking at his mouth. Thranduil abruptly stood and moved to the far corner of his desk, yanking open the top draw and producing a folded bundle of cloth. He grabbed the thick book from his desk and came back to the chair, setting the book on his lap as he flipped through the pages, looking for the section he had been studying earlier. Thranduil closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, stilling his tears and met his son's gaze.

Hesitantly, he offered the bundle to Legolas, who took it with shaky hands. And unravelled the carefully folded garment to reveal a long mottled grey and green cloak. For a moment he forgot how to breathe when the charred remains of a golden beech-leaf broach fell across his hand. Legolas ran his thumb across the blackened metal, he had given this to Lostoriel when she had come of age. He had spent hours down in the forges and the most talented jewellers in the kingdom creating it. And now it hung limply against the tattered, stringy remains of her cloak that she had worn that day. The day he lost his little sister forever. Legolas tentatively studied the faded burns and bloodstains as his father spoke.

"That night the wind… Came from me. I felt the same warmth you did, that strange tingling that spread to every inch of my being. At first I thought I had gone mad, but that's when I felt it. I thought it was not possible Legolas, but this warmth, strange and golden like the evening sun upon the water radiated from here," Thranduil rested a hand on his heart, "and it was as if she were in the room with me."

A long silence filled the room as Legolas stared at his father, his thick brows knitted together, "Ada, what are you saying?"

Thranduil leaned forward and cupped his son's cheek, he needed Legolas to believe him since he didn't believe himself. "I'm saying that I know not if what I felt is true, I have only that in my heart to believe that… That your sister may be alive. I don't know how, Legolas, but I can feel it in my bones, in my heart. I know it."

Legolas gawked at him like his father was insane, "Wha- How is that even possible? She is dead Ada, she has been for the past hundred years. How now can she possibly be alive?" his father sat back in his chair, his heart aching for Legolas did not believe him. Legolas caught the hurt in his father's features and grabbed his hand, "Adar. I felt it too and yet I cannot allow myself to hope. It has left me desolate, I haven't held onto that kind of hope for many years. But if you feel her in your bones, like I feel her presence in my every day since, then I have no reason to doubt you Ada. I just… How can we know for sure? How can we give ourselves hope?"

Thranduil was on his feet, bending down to wipe the stray tears from Legolas's cheeks. "Oh ion-nin." He engulfed his elfling in his arms, Lostoriel's cloak squished between them as Legolas fiercely wrapped his arms around Thranduil's torso and buried his head in his father's shoulder. Legolas allowed himself to let go, to let the tears flow, his father stroked his golden hair. "I know my little leaf, I have missed her every minute of every day. But there has always been hope. We held onto it with all we had and now we must do so again."

Legolas pulled away from his father, searching his face for answers, "How can you be so sure?"

"Because of this." Said Thranduil as he gracefully picked up the book he had been studying and placed it in Legolas's hands. He tapped at the intricate illustration of a gold and green pendant hanging from a golden chain. "This was my mothers'. It was forged in the West by the most skilful of jewellers and brought over the sea where it was given to her in Gondolin by her mother. I told you and Lostoriel the tale when you were younger, you remember do you not?"

Legolas shook his head somewhat despondently as he squinted to read the fading text. Carefully he paged through the ancient book, the fragile pages crunched dangerously as he studied the illustrations of his grandmother wearing the necklace. Whilst he did so Thranduil gazed out through the window, gathering his voluminous cloak around him and trying his best not to sigh at his son's awful memory.

Legolas huffed through his nose, frustrated because his eyes hurt from attempting to read the faded text. He couldn't allow himself to feel this way. And yet the tiny glimmer of hope in his heart grew larger as he felt the soft material of her cloak in his hands and remembered her laugh and her smile and the way she hummed as she strolled down the halls. He gazed up at father, seeing his entire body radiate with hope, he could feel it. A fickle but strong hope that wedged itself between the doubt and the fear that nagged at his mind. Legolas whispered, still lost in memory, "I still do not understand. What does grandmother's necklace have to do with Lostoriel's return? If she even is alive, Ada?"

Thranduil earnestly met his eyes, determination flickering in his blue orbs as he firmly set his jaw, "Everything ion-nin."

* * *

She course been the first one to descend the Carrock. The closely, happy to let Lostoriel lead them down the spiraling staircase. Unconsciously they clung onto the each other's shoulders or arms or any limb available for that matter since dwarves had never had a head for heights. However that fear seemed to dissipate the moment they stepped their cavern kingdoms.

Lostoriel had rolled her eyes each time the dwarves or Bilbo for that matter had complained about the dizzying height, or her feline ability to tromp down the stairs as if it were higher ground that she was sure her eyes were stuck in some haphazard position.

They were still fairly new. Before she had left Middle Earth these stairs had never been here. Nor had this guardian or builder who had carved these stairs. Earlier, after her ... incident... Gandalf had explained to them that this mysterious he who lived nearby had built the grand structure. Vaguely she wondered what mortal man had the strength to do something such as this.

"So, my dear, are you going to at least tell me what you saw or shall I have to pry it from you?" asked Gandalf from behind her, eyebrows quirked upwards.

Lostoriel sighed, she was not in the talk about it. "Mithrandir," she began, glancing over her shoulder, "I don't know what I saw. I could not begin to tell you even if I tried."

His unamused snort only made her want to stalk away. She had not had a vision or remembrance or whatever it was supposed to be since the one in the cave. And she wish to recount either of those experiences again. She had already spent the better part of the morning wondering what had caused her to say what she had to Thorin. And she felt as if she was balancing on a thin tight rope, dangling between two cliffs with no idea of which way to go.

Gandalf cleared his throat, "Very well then, but you will have to speak about it at some point. I may be able to help."

"I appreciate the offer, but one wizard has already tried to help me. I do not think I shall be so accepting of another's." Lostoriel's voice was humorless as she recounted Saruman's harsh words in Imladris.

"Very well then Lostoriel." he coughed lightly, unsuccessfully hiding his irritation at her rejected concern. Instead of prodding in the same direction Gandalf took in the view, trying his best to be nonchalant about the entire incident. He had, of course, heard it from Saruman's perspective, though there were times, more than he wished to admit, that he had turned a deaf ear on the white wizard's words and acted on his own accord. This was one of those times, he decided with a grunt of satisfaction and tried a new tactic.

"You caused quite the disruption in Imladris, hmm..." his lips quirked in a quick smile, calling her departure a disruption was an understatement. "I don't recall having seen poor Erestor in such a state before, not even dear Estel could calm him down. Saruman did not take kindly to your... gestures... However Lady Galadriel seemed most amused."

Lostoriel felt a pang of guilt at the mention of Estel, she had grown fond of the boy and knew he would've been hurt by her sudden disappearance. She didn't have to turn around to see the telling expression on Gandalf's face.

He sounded impressed, exasperated, but impressed. "Oh did I now? Frankly I do not care for anything the white wizard has to say to me. He and I have… differing opinions." She threw a grim look over her shoulder, catching that annoying spark in his eyes that told her that he wasn't giving up so easily. "And before you can ask me anymore I don't want to talk about it."

"Indeed you both do. Take your time and whilst you're doing so care to explain why you left me to travel for four days by myself, hmm? I know you WoodElves don't usually take kindly to wizards, but I thought you are fond of my company?" he sounded incredibly hurt and looked the part too as he innocently stared at her.

This time she did turn around and rolled her eyes, Gandalf was truly relentless. She fiddled with her hands, relinquishing her exasperated tone, "I am sorry about that Gandalf and I have always been fond of your company. But I knew that if I stayed then I would never have left." Lostoriel beamed and stepped away from the staircase, turning to face the ford that rushed passed at the foot of the plinth.

"I never thought I'd be so happy to see a river again." Hastily she changed the subject before he could ask more questions. They reached the foot of the Carrock as the sun bathed the world in its warm glow and the sound and sight of a massive ford happily greeted them at the foot of the plinth.

The river ran downstream from the Misty Mountains, bringing down fresh, icy water and beckoning them to jump in. It rushed fiercely as it snaked through the fields and forests until it ran to a steady, shallow gurgle in a massive u-shape around the Carrock and cut off into several tributaries leading into the lands of the east.

The Dwarves sunk gratefully into the grass. They were relieved to have the metallic scent of fresh earth in their noses. The calm sound of rushing water lifted their spirits and Thorin began calling out orders about where they were to set up camp.

The sight of the clear water made Lostoriel feel clammy as the grime, blood and sweat on her body became accentuated. She could feel the dust and splinters under her nails, the mud in her hair and the stiffness of her shirt and leggings that was crusted in orc blood. She needed a bath.

As she stood staring at the welcoming water the Company had moved off into the trees behind her to stay for the night. Thorin was, grudgingly, perched on a rock where Oin was cleaning out the cuts on his face and attending to the other wounds their leader had obtained. Fili and Kili had been sent off with Bilbo to collect firewood and most of the dwarves were standing at the water's edge, chattering amongst themselves about how they were supposed to ask Lostoriel to move so that they could bathe. The elf hadn't realised it, but they thought she had been staring at them whilst she was studying the clear water instead.

"Ms Lostoriel!" Piped up Dori not daring to stare at anything but his dusty boots. Dwalin had a firm grip on his shoulder after having pushed the poor fellow to the front of the group. The massive Dwarf nudged Dori forward. His voice was tight and his nose was a wonderful shade of pink, "We were uhm…Wondering if you wouldn't mind moving… You see we want…"

Understanding dawned in her eyes as she watched his eyes flit between the ford and herself. They wanted to bath and definitely not in front of her. Lostoriel didn't want to scar her brain like that again, after accidentally seeing their bare bottoms in Imladris she did not know if her eyes would survive the sight again. She cleared her throat, avoiding looking into any of their eyes as the tips of her ears burned, "Oh yes! Of course! I shall be out of sight."

Hastily Lostoriel spun on her heels and marched off in the opposite direction, immediately hearing the witty banter that passed through the group as they shoved each other into the water.

* * *

And so after an hour of arguing with herself and scanning the heavy wooded area on the other side of the Carrock, where she couldn't be seen. Lostoriel hesitantly dipped her fingers into the calm water and recoiled as her fingers seemed to freeze to the bone. The trees thickened where the ford narrowed to a small stream that ran at the edge of the forest and collected in a natural pool surrounded by enormous black boulders.

She had found the spot after her third scouring of the area and was satisfied with the boulders and shrubbery that provided her with enough cover. She was far enough that they couldn't see her, but close enough to hear their voices. Still, Lostoriel stared apprehensively at the water, the Dwarves' colourful exclamations of how frigid the water was did nothing to settle her nerves.

She glanced at the water again, sniffed experimentally at her shirt, noticing several unwanted stains and grimaced She needed a bath. Desperately. Now that the thought was in her mind it felt every inch of her body was dirty, she imagined that the grim and muck clung onto her skin and crawled. Moving on its own accord. Her hands were pasty and her hair was oily and Lostoriel didn't waste another minute and pulled off her boots. Ignoring the smell that arose from her stale socks. Next she unclipped her belt and carefully set her sword down, hilt first at the edge of the pool in case she'd need it. Lostoriel undid her leather jerkin and hastily unbuttoned her not so white linen shirt, and removing her thick, long-sleeve undershirt.

She hurriedly glared murderously around her as ensuring that there were no prying eyes and painfully tugged her leggings down and bounded into the water. Lostoriel gasped and swore, invoking several mythical legends from both the worlds she had lived in as the icy water rose higher until she was covered to her chest. And then she grimaced, realising that the river was swarming with germs and fish and other unsavoury things.

"Get it together. You're not on earth." She berated herself, ridding herself of her black vest and threw it onto the riverbank. She waded into the centre of the pool where the water was shoulder height and her body was fully submerged. It was only now that she realised how sore her chest was. The wires of her bra dug into her skin, the lines were thick, swollen and red. This. This is what going three months without taking the damned thing off had led to. As she undid the strings indescribable relief swept over her body. The same kind that came with taking ones boots off after a long days walking. The relief was short-lived when she felt a pang of self-consciousness and uneasiness. Hastily albeit disappointedly Lostoriel put it back on, she could deal with the discomfort of wet material on her skin. The afternoon sun was blazing and she would dry off in no time.

She pushed back her self-consciousness and hastily washed herself, hopped out the water, dried herself off and changed back into her clothes, basking in the relief of being clothed once again.

Her reflection rippled as the crystal clear water rushed passed. Lostoriel watched entranced as the dying amber light shimmered on the surface, falling on the rocks and stringy plants on the riverbed. She scratched her neck, her crudely cut locks infuriatingly tickled her skin as she traced a hand over the thin scar over her face. The white line resurfaced the cruel memory, the thick darkness of the woods, the pelting rain and Thalion's head resting on her lap. Lostoriel had seen him, or at least she thought she had seen him in Gollum's cave. Everything within her was elated for that moment until her head cleared and Bilbo was crouched over her.

Booted footfalls crunched the frail leaves far behind her, Lostoriel hastily wiped away the stray tears on her cheek as the Dwarf's heavy breathing echoed in her ears. They truly did tromp about, scaring away birds and animals as they exhaled like small thunderclouds. It was either Dwalin or Gloin, she thought wryly. Thorin trudged lightly on the ground and if it were Fili or Kili, she would have been tackled from behind and halfway into the river by now. The Dwarf halted just within the treeline.

"Are you dressed?" She sputtered out a laugh as Dwalin stood hunched, with one outstretched arm carrying his axe and his massive hand covering his eyes. Lostoriel snorted and failed to cover it beneath a cough as she noticed his bright, red ears.

He grunted, assuming a long-suffering tone, "I'm glad my discomfort amuses you lass. Now if you could answer me so I don't walk blindly into the river."

Lostoriel was enjoying the sight of the tough, burly dwarf standing there red as a tomato and bristling with discomfort. She left him in silence for a long moment before taking pity on him. Her linen shirt was not dry as yet and she was only in her tights and tight fitting black shirt. The concept of modesty had been all but beaten out of her from her years on Earth.

She shrugged, he'd just have to deal with it. The elf smiled to herself as she turned back to the river, "Yes I am Dwalin. You can uncover your eyes."

Dwalin marched across the grassy bank to sit with her at the water's edge. His axe laid across his lap and his muscular legs seeming to be in an uncomfortable cross-legged position. The pebbles sharply duck into his backside as he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Lostoriel watched him out of the corner of her eye, unsuccessfully hiding a grin as Dwalin muttered several colourful curses, and his last was an interesting number about Durin's teeth. She coughed, "I haven't heard anyone curse Durin's teeth before."

He scowled at her, though she remained unfazed, "Oh! It seemed the politer than what I was thinking."

Polite my foot, thought Lostoriel humming as she turned back to the water. She didn't think Dwalin had a grasp on what polite actually meant, though she kept her objections to herself. She did not want to push the rough Dwarf away, there was a softer side to him under his thick layers of tattoos and indifference.

They both fell into silence, neither one not knowing how to start the conversation. Lostoriel opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it and turned back to the river. From the corner of her eye she spotted him looking strangely stressed as he heaved a long sigh and found great interest in the sky. The seconds that followed seemed to last a life time and Lostoriel had had enough of the ridiculous game they were playing.

Finally she broke the silence, "How is Thorin?"

Dwalin picked at the grass near his feet, "He is resting. He wanted to come check up on you. You've been gone the entire day and we were all starting to worry." What he wanted to say was that he, specifically had begun to worry. As a matter of fact he spent the better part of the afternoon pacing and muttering to himself about how attached he was slowing becoming to the elf.

He cleared his throat, "Anyway, Thorin is still in pain and Oin threatened to have Bombur sit on him if he so much as moved. So I came instead. More for his sanity than mine, of course." He added gruffly for his own sanity, not failing to notice the dark bags around her eyes.

Lostoriel allowed herself a small smile, seeing Thorin flattened by Bombur would be a sight to behold. "That would be an interesting picture indeed. Well in any case Dwalin, I'm glad you did. Thank you."

He studied how she absentmindedly fiddled with the uneven cut of her locks and how she continually gazed longingly into the water. Dwalin had seen how Azog had insulted her, he had half the mind to snap the orc in half with his bare hands when Azog gleefully wrapped her braid over his wrist. That piece of filth had crossed a line and Dwalin knew that the next time he saw that orc he would kill him, first for wanting to behead his closest friend and then for what he had done to the elf. He grunted, rolling his eyes to the heavens. He felt the strong urge to help the elf. It went against everything he had stood for, for most of his life, but he knew he had to do something.

Tentatively he twisted to face her, "You going to leave it like that?"

"Leave what like what?"

He supressed his urge to sigh, knowing that this was a sensitive matter. Dwarves may hate Elves, but this was second to a declaration of war. He knew this pain, he had watched many Dwarves lose themselves when their beards were lost in battle, and he knew how shattered they became. Dwalin did not wish to see Lostoriel descend down that lonely path. "Your hair. If you leave it, it will grow into an uncontrollable mess and you'll have to cut it all over again."

Lostoriel didn't take her eyes away from the river as she shrugged. She had no clue as to what she wanted to do. She twisted her fingers in her hair, feeling the irregular lengths slip through. "What do you suggest?" she asked eventually.

Dwalin stood, his axe in hand as he studied her hair. Years of experience trimming his comrade's locks, Kili's included, giving him ideas. Finally he huffed, satisfied with his decision. Lostoriel gazed at him over her shoulder, "Well?"

And she immediately regretted asking. Dwalin glanced from his axe to her hair and back to the axe. The massive, broad blade gleamed dangerously in the fading daylight. Lostoriel could see how blunt the edge of the blade was and she gulped nervously. "No." she managed to speak out.

"Wha?"

"I said no. You're not coming anywhere near my head with that axe! Absolutely not!" She glared murderously at Dwalin, who stood blank faced and waiting for her to stop her tirade. He folded his arms.

"You haven't let me explain what I want to do."

"Well I don't want you to do it." Lostoriel caught the flash of hurt on his face before he covered it up and instantly felt guilty. "You're right, I'm sorry" She said shame-faced, "I should let you explain first. You're only trying to help and I shouldn't have reacted that way. I'm grateful for what you're doing, however, if you must cut my hair, please use this."

Lostoriel slid her dagger from its sheath and handed it up to Dwalin, who frowned at the flimsy weapon in his massive hands. "It's alright lass, you don't have to apologise." His frown deepened, "My axe will work well enough."

"I know. But this will make me feel less like you're about to decapitate me."

He shrugged, setting his axe in the holster over his shoulder next to its twin and flipped the dagger in his hand before setting to work on Lostoriel's hair. His hands worked as a well-oiled machine. One holding down the thick strands and the other scraped gratingly as he began to shape her hair into a bob. Lostoriel had not spoken, he sensed that she didn't want to, so he had stayed silent and listened to the way she sniffed and dabbed at her eyes every now and then. Dwalin had no idea what to say to her so instead he began to sing.

Lostoriel sat stiffly as he worked, he had a surprisingly wonderful singing voice. It was rich, easily carrying the lower notes of the slow melody and smoothly holding the tune of the song. She identified a few words as he sang in Khuzdul. Lostoriel knew that she was privileged that Dwalin sang in his first tongue in front of her.

It was mesmerising. A far cry from the smooth, gently folding words of Sindarin. The words rolled off his tongue, clashing together like the clanging of a hammer on an anvil and dancing in the air like thunder and rain. She felt so much emotion within her that she let herself simply be, letting the melody play in her mind until they reached the camp in the evening light.

* * *

Night drew its heavy blanket upon the world and the Company settled around the fire as the stars crept across the clear sky. The small fire cackled happily in the circle of rocks, as a cacophony of snores shattered the peace of the night. The Company had dined on a meal of fresh fish that had been grilled over the fire whilst Bilbo recounted his and Lostoriel's harrowing encounter with Gollum in the Goblin Caves.

The Dwarves in turn, had shared their tale of how they'd escaped Goblin Town, taking explaining how the goblin king had tricked them into thinking Lostoriel had been taken prisoner by the vile creatures. And of how Gandalf had explosively come to their rescue and had single-handedly slain the goblin king.

As Lostoriel recalled Bilbo's heroics in Gollum's cave she caught the Dwarves staring at her strangely and knew that it was because of her hair. She was yet to become accustomed to how it tickled her neck every time she moved and to the weightlessness of her head. Dwalin had done an excellent job cutting her hair into a neat bob that cropped off just below her jaw and yet the Dwarves stared as if something was missing from her.

The winding wisps of smoke wafted into the air and entranced the elf as they turned hues of blues and purples. Lostoriel craned over her shoulder to smile admiringly at Gandalf, "Still doing your tricks then?"

Kili yelped as her leg jolted from underneath his head and he hit the ground with a thump! He cursed loudly grabbing the attention of the Company.

"Oh I'm so sorry! You alright Kili?" she asked as he rubbed the small lump on the back of his head.

"I'll live. Nothing more than a small knock. "It had not, in fact, been a small knock. His vision blurred for a moment and his skull reverberated with pain. He swung on his bottom and plopped his head onto Fili's legs, earning a gasp of betrayal from Lostoriel.

He laughed beneath his beard, a cloud of smoke billowed from his mouth. "Of course. Goodness! First Bilbo and now you." He winked good-naturedly at the Hobbit, "I'm beginning to think I should walk about with a sign saying, 'still in business' that bursts forth with fireworks."

The pinch of exasperation in his voice told Lostoriel that she was not the first to be pleasantly surprised that he still used magic for fun. She watched as Gandalf blew out a perfect, pink smoke ring that dissipated quickly. Lostoriel sniffed disdainfully at the bitter scent of the pipe weed that had miraculously survived their ordeals thus far. She rolled her eyes as Gloin frowned at the miniscule smoke ring he had blown in comparison to the one Gandalf had.

Bilbo coughed around his pipe, "Very good that. But how's this?" he inhaled a deep draught of smoke and puffed out a beautifully, thick curved ring that floated above the firelight. The dwarves cheered quietly and Gandalf snorted.

He gently blew the smoke out his mouth and it spun and curved into a herd of yellow, silver and purple horses running off into the darkness.

"How did you do tha'?" piped up Bofur as Gandalf puffed out butterflies and emerald coloured birds that fluttered in the smoke. The old wizard chuckled as Lostoriel reached up and touched a smoke butterfly that rushed to sit on her nose. The bitter smoke tickled her nostrils and a strange pressure began to build behind her eyes and nose. Creeping up her throat as she heaved in a great breath whilst the pressure collected like a dam. She sneezed so loudly that she scared herself and the Dwarves. Lostoriel sniffed, not daring to move a muscle as she regained her breath. Elves sneeze, or cough or get sick unless in extreme there was nothing extreme about the smoke.

"Oh no! Elfling allergic to a little smoke?" Dwalin did a horrible imitation of her appalled expression, earning a few laughs and muffled remarks, many of which were expressing disappointment at her unenthusiastic reaction to their pastime.

Lostoriel glared half-heartedly at them, "Oh shut up." However she couldn't keep her laughter in any longer and joined in. Despite almost having died several times in the past few days alone she felt

"How come elves don't smoke?" asked Fili from beside her, where he sat cleaning out his pipe.

"How come you lads aren't fond of heights? Scared you migh' fall off?" she countered with disturbingly accurate imitation of Dwalin's thick accent. Fili opened his mouth to object when something flashed yellow beside Lostoriel's head. He squinted at the elf, dropping his pipe onto Kili's forehead.

"What is it? Is there something on my face?" Lostoriel stared at him, wondering what had distracted him.

"There it is again." Fili pointed next to her left, "Lightening bugs!" he exclaimed quietly as more yellow lights flickered around them.

A wave of yellow emerged out of the surrounding undergrowth. The fireflies swarmed the air, flickering and glowing as they spoke to one another. They undulated, flickering in a dance of pattern and light as they bobbed happily around the dwarves. One landed on Bilbo's nose, the hobbit's eyes skewed as he stared at the glowing creature that seemed to study him with the same curiosity.

The Company stared at their wondrous beauty, forgetting about Azog and the dragon as the fireflies bobbed around them. And for the first time in many weeks they felt pure, unbridled joy within themselves. Nori wedged himself between Dori and Ori, not wanting to let them out of his sight after they had nearly plunged to their deaths barely a few hours ago. Kili lay on his back, one booted foot on Fili's lap, the other unbooted foot hovered in the air just as Kili brought it up to Fili's nose and his older brother slapped it away. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur were also huddled closely, Bifur used Bombur's leg as a pillow and Bofur had settled himself half on Bifur's barrel stomach.

Lostoriel did not relish in the splendor of the fireflies any longer as she noticed them sprawled with their brother's around the fire and suddenly felt a pang of longing for her own. Watching all of them just being together made her miss Legolas and Thalion even more than she already did. Especially watching Fili and Kili, they reminded her of how her brothers used to be. Happy, mischievous and oh so very annoying. But she had loved them beyond measure and still did.

Whilst the Company let their spirits be lightened by the creatures she quietly slipped away into the night. The quiet that sunk into her bones and silenced the flurry of thoughts in her head. She wondered if Legolas would recognize her after all this time, if he still sang amongst the trees and drank his tea with absurd amounts of honey in it. Or if he was still sworn off peas for all eternity. She laughed quietly to herself as she remembered him. But that laugh quickly turned into a heavy sigh as she stole a glance at the merry Dwarves behind her.

Thorin, Smaug, Azog and the sight of the GreenWood had her pulling at the ends of her sleeves. She had made a sizable hole in one and had to restrain herself from tugging at the threads that would unravel it and likely send her unravelling along with it.

Lostoriel slipped in and out of matches of moonlight as she rounded the wide curve of the river. As much the voice inside her head told her she shouldn't, Lostoriel knew she'd have to confront Thorin about her flashback in the cave in the Misty Mountains. She had seen him leave her at the mercy of Smaug and hoped beyond hope that what she had seen was wrong...

And that she hadn't just offered her friendship to a dwarf who had left her to die. On top of that there was something nagging at her consciousness, something intangible, dark and sweltering like the rain clouds that, scudded overhead. It was a shadow of malice, small but powerful enough to have caught her attention, it was almost similar to what she had felt around Saruman. Lostoriel grimaced, she needed to tell Gandalf about it.

As a matter of fact she needed to talk to Gandalf about the GreenWood. The forest road the quickest route to Erebor and should they take it she needed to know what she was walking into. On the other hand, she thought wryly as she perched on a large boulder in the shallows of the river, it would be interesting to simply knock at the door as he had so succulently put it and see what would happen.

Bilbo found her sometime in the early morning hours. He had noticed her slip away earlier when the fireflies had lit up the night and began to grow worried when she still hadn't returned after Fili had relieved Gloin from his watch duty. And that had been well past midnight.

Lostoriel was perched on a low, flat rock at the edge of the river where the water ran only a few centimeters deep. The stars were veiled by the clouds and the moonlight bounced off her platinum hair, tricking his eyes into seeing rivulets of gold running through her locks as he silently approached her from behind.

If Lostoriel had heard him, she made no sign of it. Then again he didn't expect her to. Over the course of their travels Bilbo had seen how she could sit stock-still for hours on end and could hear an enemy approach minutes before they came into the Dwarves' range of sight.

"You know, slouching over like that can do no good for your back." said Bilbo, clasping his hands together beside his back as he stood beside her. Lostoriel jumped at the sound of his voice, she gasped loudly and nearly toppled into the river as she recoiled from the Hobbit.

"Good grief Bilbo!" Lostoriel clutched her chest as her heart lurched. She hadn't heard him approaching over the sound of the river. She had not even heard him breathe as he crept up behind her. He seemed to have magically appeared from the air itself. Gandalf had been right, Hobbits were remarkably light on their feet and skilled at doing so if he managed to sneak passed an elf. "Next time do announce yourself before you scare me halfway to death!"

He grinned, rather proud that he had snuck up on her without using the magic ring he had found in Gollum's cave. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, gesturing to the empty spot beside her.

Lostoriel nodded, half amused that he had snuck up on her and half annoyed that he found so much glee in his skill. "So long as you don't try to scare me again."

The Hobbit sunk to the ground beside her, feeling incredibly tiny next to the elf. Who even sitting was still at least five whole heads taller than him. He realised with some disappointment that his head barely reached her shoulder, he had to crane his head back if he wanted to look her in the eyes.

Bilbo shrugged and turned back to study the water. Without knowing it, Bilbo patted the bottom pocket of his waistcoat, where he had left it before the orcs attacked, just to ensure that it hadn't suddenly disappeared. His heart seemed to stop when he didn't feel the familiar weight of the trinket. Without showing any outward signs of panic he slipped his hand into his pocket and nearly fainted in relief when the cool surface of the ring

"Looking for something?" She turned to face him after hearing him rustling beside her. Lostoriel caught a glimpse of the golden trinket as Bilbo slipped it back into his pocket. She realised that she and Gandalf had not imagined it, when they saw it upon the mountain. There were barely a handful of magic rings left in Middle Earth, none of which turned the wearer invisible. And one found in the dank depths of a forgotten cave, occupied by a gangly shadow of a creature sent alarm bells ringing in her head. Nothing good was found in the depths of the earth.

For a moment Bilbo's heart lurched thinking that she knew about the ring. And that she might want to see it. Somehow he didn't want her to even touch it, nor to set her eyes upon it. It was something he had found, his treasure. Lostoriel caught the shadow that flickered across his face. His usually kind brown eyes glared at her in suspicion. She ruled it down the irregular shadows of the clouds as they competed for a place in the sky, blanketing the land in pockets of moonlight. Then the shadow passed and Bilbo smiled up at her.

"Yes," said he, fishing for something in his pocket, "Just… my pipe." He held out the small, wooden pipe, along with the twig he had found earlier that day and began to clean the ashen contents of the bowl part of the pipe.

Lostoriel glanced at him again, easily hiding her suspicion beneath her amused smile. He had lied to her. She had never known Bilbo to lie, he was an honest friend. The elf quietly sighed and turned her attention to the calming water, the reason as to why he was being so secretive would have to wait. They slipped into a content silence, Bilbo scratched away at his pipe and Lostoriel watched how the water rippled around the rocks and gurgled into the deeper parts of the river.

Bilbo kept glancing at her, his mouth open to speak, but his words failed him each time. Eventually he took a deep breath and spoke, "You alright?"

Again he caught Lostoriel off-guard, she was lost in her thoughts and felt far away from him. "Yes, of course I am." She answered too quickly, giving herself away. She knew that Bilbo wasn't asking about her injuries and she plunged on, pointedly ignoring his unamused expression. "My head isn't spinning and my shoulder is barely throbbing anymore. Why do you ask?"

"We both know that I know you know that I wasn't talking about your wounds, Lostoriel." Bilbo had stopped cleaning his smoke pipe and turned to face her, watching as she avoided his eye contact and played with the golden chain she wore around her neck.

She snorted, "I'm almost tempted to ask you to repeat that."

"Fine." He relented as she continued to stare at the water, sensing that Lostoriel wasn't going to open up anytime soon, "You don't have to talk about it now. But if you do, I'm here."

Lostoriel winced, the sincerity in his voice made her feel terrible. He was only trying to help, to be there for her and she was pushing him away. She knew what he wanted to know about. Deep down Lostoriel wanted to run away, to not have to talk about it, it might have been decades since it happened and yet the pain still felt as if it would tear her apart. Lostoriel sighed, she would have to tell him about it at some point.

She pulled her grandmother's necklace over her head and wound it around her fingers. The winding and unwinding of the metal over her skin distracted her well enough to tell the story. "You want to know about Thalion."

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but saw that she wasn't done speaking and let her continue. Lostoriel twisted the thin chain around her wrist, she hadn't spoken about his death in many years. "I…It was a long time ago, maybe fifty or so years before I could disappear. The twins and Arwen, their younger sister, had come to spend the summer with us in the GreenWood. Back then the woods was still the GreenWood of old, the darkness had only begun to creep into the forest. Legolas and I had managed to shift around our patrols to be with them and we decided to go camping near the footholds of the mountains towards the south of the forest." Lostoriel paused for breath and stretched her legs out before her.

"Legolas and I had been exploring the caves in those mountains for a few months and naturally we wanted to show them to our friends. So far we had encountered no danger in our searches and we had no reason to fear an ambush from the orcs. We were wrong."

Lostoriel shuddered as the memory of the foul beasts flickered to life in the dark reaches of her mind, "It must have been a day or so after we set up camp, the night was fair and the forest was quiet. They came in the middle of the night. It was a terrible skirmish, the orcs outnumbered us four to one and we were caught unprepared. Legolas and Elrohir managed to escape, but not uninjured. Arwen, Elladan and I weren't so lucky. The orcs held us captive for three days… Beat us, tortured us… It felt like an eternity of hoping and waiting for death. We were only supposed to be in the mountains for a few days and Thalion's patrol had heard the sounds of battle and had run into Legolas and Elrohir as they searched for signs of the skirmish. They found us, alive and we managed to escape, but not without a fight."

Lostoriel gazed out over the land, her eyes darting wildly as if she expected the orcs to appear at any moment. She traced the scar on her face, from above her eye to her chin. "That's how I got this. Thalion had his back turned, an orc tried to stab him, but I got to it first. It made to slice me across my middle, but I somehow managed to duck and the orc was caught off guard. Its sword got me on my face and once I was down it…It had stabbed Thalion in the back." Her voice lowered to a whisper, thick with emotion, "I could've saved him, he would still be alive had I not ducked to save myself. That blade was meant for me, not for him."

Bilbo was at a loss on what to do, or what to say. He watched helplessly as she wiped the tears from her face, the conviction in her words had hit him in the gut. So this was why she had mistaken him for Thalion on Gollum's cave, this was why she had been so terrified. Bilbo reached out and squeezed her hand, he smiled sympathetically at her, "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

He didn't know if his words meant anything to her, more often than not he had learnt that those the words hardly meant anything. But he hoped she understood what he meant. "It was not your fault. You couldn't have known that that orc was going to do that."

Lostoriel squeezed his hand back, thankful that Bilbo had come. "You're right. It was not, it's been so long and I should have forgiven myself by now. But it's not as easy as it seems." She looked down into Bilbo's eyes and saw nothing but empathy in them, "Thank you for reminding me."

"I-" Bilbo began to speak but was cut off by a shrill howl that pierced the air. They both froze. Lostoriel loosened her sword from its scabbard and grimaced as a chorus of answering howls and shouts filled the air.

"Wargs." She growled, springing to her feet and unsheathed her sword at the same time. Beside her Bilbo clambered to his feet, the hair on his neck and arms raised as Lostoriel's harrowing tale still echoed in his ears.

"I thought we were days ahead of them." he whispered, drawing his sword from his side and let himself breathe when it did not light up blue. Bilbo gestured to his dull blade, "They can't be very close."

Lostoriel nodded, relieved that the sword wasn't glowing and that they had time to avoid an ambush. She scanned the horizon , searching for any sign of the orc pack. And that's when she saw them. There, high upon the ridge line to the west of the Carrock , silhouetted against the fading starlight were at least five wargs, howling and noses glued to the ground as they picked up the Company's scent.

Bilbo saw her blanch in the dim light and his stomach somersaulted. He hated that fiery look of determination, he had begun to learn that the locked-jaw, thin-lipped expression meant that there was imminent danger and the possibility of death ahead of them. "How many are they?"

Lostoriel shook her head uncertainly, "I see about five maybe six, though I can't be sure." She pivoted on her heels, the adrenaline already coursing through her body, "Come on! We need to alert the others! "

With that Bilbo and Lostoriel took off running, to rouse the rest of the Company. The wargs howled again, this time closer to their current position. Azog was on the move. The hunt was on.


	16. In the Safety of Bears and Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation (s) : No dhìnen - be silent

"Would you stop that infernal pacing!" hissed Thorin , shooting an irritated glare at Lostoriel as she halted in her tracks and glared at him through silted eyes.

The elf had worn a thin rut into the ground as they waited for Bilbo's return. "Would you stop your shouting! They'll hear you from a mile away!" she hissed back and continued her pacing, her sword swinging back and forth in her hand.

She stopped in front of Gandalf, opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it and huffed, picking up her rhythmic walk was worried about Bilbo, all alone, hidden somewhere in a haphazard jumble of exposed rocks with an orc pack on their tails. Her nerves were as taught as fiddle strings and every thought of her friend at the mercy of Azog tightened the tuning peg until she was sure she was going to snap.

Kili grumbled in Khuzdul to his brother, rolling his eyes to the heavens as he watched Lostoriel briskly walk back and forth, kicking up a small cloud of dust as she did so. The elf whipped around on her heels and had the sudden urge to tie him to the nearest tree.

"My footsteps are not akin to those of an Oliphant, Kili. You're not entirely the definition of stealthy either Fili!"

The brothers flushed red, horrified to learn that she had an understanding of the well-guarded Dwarven tongue. They both gulped, realising that she had heard them

"You say that lass, but the track you've ploughed into the grou'd begs to differ." Piped up Bombur in his heavy brogue. Lostoriel shot a withering stare at the dwarf and rotated in a slow circle as she eyed each one of them.

"Another peep, just one, about my trench and I'll string you all up by your toes." she smiled sweetly. That combined with the non-plussed tone Lostoriel used unnerved the dwarves and they took a collective step back. Unsure if she was joking, and not willing to find out.

They were waiting for Bilbo to return from his reconnaissance mission for half an hour now and still the Hobbit had not returned. The Company had spent the early hours of the morning sprinting across rock and hill to escape the clutches of Azog's pack. They had finally outrun them just after dawn and were currently hiding behind a sheer wall of rock that covered both sides of the path they had been following.

Their nerves were so on edge that Lostoriel reckoned she could hear their hair standing on end. They were all weary and exhausted. The unexpected run at unearthly hours of the morning had eaten up what mental and physical reserves they had and now waiting for the halfling to bring them news of their pursuers did nothing to calm them.

Lostoriel yet again glanced towards the path half expecting Bilbo or worse, an orc to magically appear. The anxiety had her tightly clutching a hand around her sword, she had to stop and remind herself that Bilbo was more capable than she thought he was.

Gandalf glared at her as he caught a blur of movement in the corner of his eye and he couldn't stand it any longer. "Stay still Lostoriel Thranduiliel or do I need to glue your feet to the ground!?"

His commanding voice stopped her tracks, one foot still up and her eyes wide. Kili coughed loudly, covering his mouth with his hand, "Like a deer in the lantern."

Lostoriel had a great inkling that he was suppressing a laugh behind that hand. She rolled her eyes, a scathing reply already on her lips when the faintest patter of footsteps on grass pricked at her ears. She turned expectantly to where the path ended and sighed in relief when Bilbo burst forth from the curve in the path and crashed warily into the group.

"How close is the pack?" demanded Thorin as Orcrist fell ready at his side in case the orcs were behind the hobbit.

Bilbo panted heavily, leaning on his knees as he tried to regain his breath. Shakily he stood, still inhaling deeply, "Close, too close!"

The Company gathered around him in a loose circle and several of the dwarves closest to him patted him proudly, albeit painfully on the shoulders with their massive hands. Bilbo was sure they had no sense of what it meant to be gentle and were attempting to knock his lungs out of his chest.

"What did I tell you ,hmm?" Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow at the Company, his voice thick with pride, "Quiet as a mouse!"

A chorus of praise arose from the dwarves, but Bilbo was having none of it. He held a hand in the air to silence them, "But that's not all."

"What do you mean? Did they see you?" asked Lostoriel, stepping forward into the small crowd that surrounded Bilbo.

"They saw you?" Gandalf followed in the same pedantic tone, his voice only another drone to the cacophony of voices around him as they all decided to pelt questions upon the flustered Hobbit.

"No...No!" protested Bilbo, huffing in annoyance. He could feel his blood pressure rise like it did that night at BagEnd when they pillaged his pantry and tried his best to hush them. It was no use. "Would you all listen?" Bilbo slumped his shoulders and locked eyes with Lostoriel, pleading her to do something. Thankfully she got the message.

The elf scowled, "No dhínen! Shut it all of you!"

And still the Dwarves did not listen and continued to panic amongst each other. Lostoriel merely shrugged and held her hands in a tried and failed gesture. The dwarves were off on a tangent and they both knew that it would take time that they didn't have the luxury of sparing to shut them up.

"Would you all just listen?" Bilbo finally snapped, one hand pointing in the direction he came. "I'm trying to tell you that there's something else out there!"

"What form did it take? Like a bear?" asked Gandalf.

"Yes..." Bilbo frowned in confusion, he had seen what he thought was a bear, how Gandalf knew that astounded him."But bigger much bigger."

The Dwarves turned expectantly between Lostoriel and Gandalf. The wizard's knitted eyebrows and grave spark in his eyes gave him away. Lostoriel on the other hand was just about as confused as the dwarves were. She exasperatedly rolled her eyes, "Just because I'm old doesn't mean I know everything."

However, she knew of a race of men that inhabited the villages and mountains before the GreenWood. Taller than most, as bulky and strong as oxen, with hair black as the night and the rumoured ability to transform into animals of enormous proportions. She had never spent much time around them, but she had seen the grusome corpses of their kills. Lostoriel met Gandalf's grave stare and shuddered seeing the clogs spin in his mind and the unwilling acceptance in his eyes told her what he had in mind was dangerous and would likely get them killed.

"You knew of this beast." said Bofur in panic, looking between their pale faces, "I say we double back!"

Thorin's grip around Orcrist's hilt tightened. They were quickly running out of options." And be run down by a pack of orcs?"

"He's right. Azog is too close, we don't stand a chance." agreed Lostoriel.

All eyes turned to Gandalf, who stood reluctant to tell them of what he had in mind. After his clever trickery in getting them into Rivendell he knew that Thorin would not so blindly trust him again. "There is a house, not far from here where we might take refuge."

Lostoriel already hated the uncertainty in his voice. And apparently so did Thorin.

"Whose house? Be they friend or foe?"

The elf resisted the urge to backhand him over the head then and there. Instead she snorted indignantly at the implications of his words. She knew fully well that Thorin was asking if Gandalf was leading them to the Elves or not. Lostoriel rolled her eyes, some things would never change.

"Neither." said Gandalf gravely, "He will help us, or he will kill us."

"What choice do we have?"

Before Gandalf could answer the bear roared ferociously, the deep keening sound carried on the air until it thundered in their ears. Lostoriel's ears picked up the sound of its heavy stride as it thundered in their closer and closer every second. She spun her sword in her hand and rested it at her side, ready for combat at any moment.

Gandalf caught her movements, "None." He did a quick head count, ensuring all sixteen of them were there just as the bear roared again. "Come on! RUN!"

Needing no further urging the Company bolted down the hillside and out into the open plains below. The sun broke free of the clouds and began to beat down upon them as they sprinted through gorse and heather, passing fields of lavender and through narrow streams that were fed from the Anduin flowing south.

The cool water splashed onto Lostoriel's legs as she pelted through, pushing Bilbo in front of her and letting the dwarves run ahead of her so that she and Thorin brought up the rear.

"Run!" yelled Gandalf from the front of the loose group, he held onto his hat with one hand, loathe to take it off but not wanting to lose it. Vaguely Lostoriel wondered if he could say something more useful, or do something about the enormous carnivore that was after their flesh.

Oin stopped running and stood in the open field of flowers, clutching his side and wheezing. Thorin and Lostoriel both stopped, quickly she unhooked the small pouch she had kept the Miruvor in , unstoppered handed it to him. He gulped down the contents, most of the leathery tasting water trickling down his beard as he did so. Thorin tapped his foot impatiently on the ground. He didn't see the wise healer as a liability, in fact he thought highly of Oin, but the howling of Azog's troop sent shivers down his spin and he knew that they didn't have much time to evade their pursuers.

The old dwarf nodded and the trio sped off to catch up with the others. Lostoriel glanced over her shoulder and could just make out the outline of Azog and his dogs hastily gaining ground on the Company.

"Hurry up!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, spurring the Company on. Lostoriel breathed heavily through her nose, she willed her body to focus all her energy on moving her legs and making of their companions didn't fall behind.

They crashed through into of the shade of the treeline, the land slopped downhill from here, the trees grew haphazardly in all directions, their leafy boughs creaked as they dwarves bounded down the rocky hillside. Azog's command in black speak ricocheted through the woods and the Company froze in place trying to discern where the pack was. For a moment all was silent save for the heavy breathing of the dwarves.

"Have we outrun them?" asked Ori, his eyes wide as saucers as he stood firmly wedged between Fili and Kili.

Azog roared again, this time accompanied by the answering howls of his wargs. "Run! Hurry up!" yelled Gandalf as he bounded further down the hillside. The dwarves weren't as quick, most of them stood firmly rooted in place.

Then something began to crash through the trees, crushing the undergrowth under its massive paws and roaring like thunder. The dwarves bolted, Thorin yanked Bombur by his beard and practically dragged the poor dwarf with him as he ran.

Lostoriel whipped around to face the way they had come and searched for any sign of their hunters and saw none, the trees were too closely packed to clearly see anything beyond ten metres. She wasted no more time and followed after Thorin.

Gandalf urged them on as they hurried through the thinning tree cover and finally broke out into the rolling plains. Chaos followed hot on their heels as the mountains sprung up in the distance growing smaller towards the horizon. The Company was spread out in one long line as they sprinted across the open land. The grass was soft underfoot and sun beat unrelentingly causing beads to trickle down their foreheads.

Lostoriel heard the bear crashing through the trees before she saw it. She risked looking over her shoulder and her heart began to beat in a wild frenzy. "Hurry up!" she screamed.

The bear, if one could even call it that, was a hulking mass of brown fur, with paws the size of a man's head and teeth as long as her dagger and thick as the hilt of Dwalin's axe. Lostoriel caught the murderous glint in its plate sized amber eyes and was spurred on as the adrenaline rushed into her bloodstream. The air hissed in her ears, carrying the pounding of its footfalls behind them.

She glanced back once more and blanched as its bulging muscles bunched up and it lunged at her, snapping its massive jaws as the saliva flew out its mouth.

The elf turned back to the line, urging herself to run faster. All she could hear was the sound of her harsh breathing. Her lungs were beginning to burn. Running was not one of her favourite pastimes and she was beginning to remember why. Lostoriel scowled. She hated this.

Bombur began to lag behind. She could hear his ragged breathing and turned to check on him. She noticed the way his legs shook with every step. He would tire soon.

"Come on Bombur!" she yelled over her shoulder. She glanced up, remembering Lord Merenon's advice to always keep looking forward and not down. And she was thankful she did for in the foremost distance was a house. Its large, hedge covered gates stood tall and open, as if with open arms to welcome them.

"If you slow down now I'll leave you to get eaten by the bear!" she yelled and watched in a mixture of surprise, which one, she didn't know as Bombur literally began to sprint with all the strength that his stout legs could muster and overtook her.

She had no energy to express her surprise, but her wide eyes said it all. Exclamations of shock and amazement carried down the line as Bombur, renowned for hating running or any form of physical exercise, bolted past them , overtaking even Fili and Kili.

"Come on! Into the house! Go!" shouted Gandalf from over his shoulder as he skidded to a halted at the gate of the house to let them pass through.

The dwarves sprinted in, Bilbo panting exhaustedly as he ran in toe with Balin. Lostoriel and Thorin brought up the rear along with Gandalf as they rushed through open entrance and into a huge garden with the bear trampling behind them.

"Into the house! Quickly!" shouted Gandalf.

The dwarves had gathered at the gate and were futilly attempting to bash their way through the latched doors with nothing but their shoulders in their blind panic. Lostoriel rolled her eyes and shook her head, idiots, she thought exasperatedly. She had survived dragon fire, goblins and Azog the Defiler. This was not how she was going to die.

"Open the doors! NOW!" came Thorin's command.

Lostoriel followed closely on Thorin's heels as he pushed his way through the crowded, shouting dwarves and threw up the massive latch which caused the Company to pile into the house. The bear was almost upon them. Its paws clattered on the cobblestone as Gandalf and Lostoriel ran through the doorway. The creature roared , the deafening sound seemed to shake the foundations of the house itself. Bilbo and Lostoriel flinched as the sound resonated painfully in their ears. It was nearly upon them.

The elf was nearest to the doors as the bear shoved its massive head against the double doors. Lostoriel could feel its hot breathe on her face as she pushed upon the doors with both her hands, Kili was hunched against one door below her and Dwalin placed himself on her right. They pushed with all they had against the door, but the bear was too strong. It roared again, this time using its shoulder to wedge itself between the doors and the Company was momentarily shoved backwards.

Lostoriel knew she would regret it, but it was the only way to get them to safety. She shoved her way to the entrance, pivoted on her heel and swung the pommel of her sword into the bear's snout. It landed with a sickening crunch and the bear went silent before it roared and snapped at them in reignited rage.

She gritted her teeth, letting out a low curse as the Company as one threw themselves against the doors and managed to shut them closed with their combined strength. Dwalin, Thorin and Gloin slipped the large wooden plank into the latch and they all stood panting and at a safe distance from the creature that stood pacing outside the doors.

Ori was the first to speak. The young dwarf was terrified, he shook like a leaf in the wind and didn't care that any of his companions could see the fear radiate off him. "What was that?"

"That is our host." said Gandalf with an air amusement as the entire Company fell into silence. "His name is Beorn and he's a skin changer."

Lostoriel inhaled deeply, trying to slow the kick drum in her chest. She was somewhat elated that they had found shelter in a pleasant looking house and not in some dingy inn, hopefully this Beorn would be kind enough to not eat them. His name flickered on a light in her mind, she knew that name, but from when and how she didn't know.

"Get away from there!" Dori immediately yanked his brother away from the double doors, arm slung around Ori's shoulders and the other making the three fingered sign to ward off evil. "It's not natural, none of it! It's obvious, he's under some dark spell."

Lostoriel, who leaned on the doors trying to catch her breath, rolled her eyes to the heavens. Trust Dori to be so narrow minded about this creature, she thought exasperatedly as the Dwarves recoiled, ready to believe their superstitious companion.

"Don't be a fool!" scolded Gandalf with all the calmness and patience he had left in him, which was little more than a trickle considering how fast his heart was beating. "He's under no enchantment but his own and he's not over fond of Dwarves."

Lostoriel gave him a humourless smile, "Well then this should be fun."

The elf sheathed her sword and took in the large barn around them. It was then that she noticed the dull and yet putrid scent of livestock wafting in the air and spotted several sienna coloured cows eyeing them indifferently in their scrunched up her nose and hoped that the smell would be forgotten once she was asleep.

Lostoriel turned in a slow circle, taking in the house as she did so. It appeared that this Beorn had taken to living with his animals as hay covered most of the stone floor of the barn until it reached the raised platform at the other end. The dwarves mulled around the house, their curious nature overriding any sense of fear that they had felt just moments before. Most of them fell into the hay right where they stood and groaned miserably about their aching muscles and creaking joints. It had undoubtedly been the most running they'd done in several months and even Lostoriel's legs begged her to relax.

Bilbo made a beeline towards her, looking rather lost and uncomfortable as he stared wide-eyed at the towering furniture and cows around him. Lostoriel couldn't help but smile to herself when she noticed how short and stout he actually was.

He regarded her curiously, his hands clasped behind his back, "What is it?"

Lostoriel flushed pink and practically bounded up the steps, keeping her head down the entire time so as to keep him from seeing the grin on her face. She had grown fond of and close with their hobbit, however she had seen his fierce temper and had no wish to ignite that fire.

"Nothing to worry about." She turned in a circle as she took in the dining area and ignored the unconvinced scoff that erupted from the Hobbit.

Lostoriel knew that she was by no means the tallest of Elves , but even for an elf everything in the dining room looked over sized. The long, oak table reached above her hip and if she sat on one of the equally as long and high benches her feet would not touch the ground. To her right was a small staircase that led to what she assumed was the kitchen. She peered around the doorframe and smiled as her assumption was proved correct. The kitchen was massive, with a tall stove and coal oven and what looked like a larder that the Dwarves would readily dig into.

"I wonder how long it'll take them to pillage this pantry." Said Bilbo with the slightest hint of acid in his voice.

Lostoriel fought down the smile that tugged at her lips as she recalled his story of how the Company had emptied his entire pantry in under four hours- a torturous eternity in his words- and had inhaled all his ale in one go. Even Erestor had had something to say about their enormous appetites when they had been in Imladris, which was saying something since he lived with both Elladan and Elrohir. Her heart sunk a little at the thought of Elrohir.

She shook her head, suppressing a grin, "I don't think they'll take that chance here. Not when our host could eat them all in one bite."

Fili popped up next to Bilbo, "No we won't." he turned a hurt look in Bilbo's direction, "I thought you enjoyed having us around that evening Master Boggins. The finest smoked ham I've ever tasted was from your larder, I tell you."

The Hobbit scoffed again, "Yes well. Too bad you tromped all over it."

Lostoriel patted the blushing dwarf on the shoulder and carried on with her exploration, knowing that Fili had the ability to egg anyone on in the witty banter that the Dwarves were so fond of.

The elf strolled back into the dining room taking in the towering archway that separated it from the stable, intricately carved bears curved at its top and she had the distinct feeling that their unseeing eyes were watching her. The feint sound of dogs yelping, the deep drone of the enormous bees and something else hummed in her ears, creating a cacophony of life.

She strolled to the steps of the dining room and leaned on the arch, her head poised to the side as she listened for the soft, grating noise she had picked up. She could hear it sniffing, then the grating noise again. It wasn't the bear, the footsteps were lighter. Lostoriel loosened her sword on its scabbard as a silence filled the house. The Company froze in place, all their eyes searching for the low growling that trickled in from a small hatch in the stable wall.

"We're not alone." came Thorin's low voice from the other side of the table.

* * *

Gandalf shifted uncomfortably from his perch on a bale of hay, his mouth already forming a word that never left his mouth as a huge whirr of grey and white fur rushed headlong into the barn, growling menacingly as its bared, dagger-like canines caught the light. The dwarves held tightly onto their axes as the massive wolf stood tall, almost as tall as Bilbo, its taught muscles bunching beneath its shaggy grey and black coat. The animal turned in a slow circle as it took in the blundering figures around it.

"Nobody…move." Breathed Thorin as he ever so slightly angled Orcrist down towards his hip, berating himself for having slung the sword across his back earlier. His eyes never left the shaking form of the wolf in the centre of the room, he allowed himself a single breath of relief when spotted Fili and Kili near the kitchen with the hobbit. His nephews were safe, however the remainder of his company was at the mercy of the creature. He caught Dwalin's eyes from across the barn, his gaze flickering from his friend's axes to the wolf. Dwalin's eyes were fixed on Thorin's hand, the one resting at his side and counting down from five to one.

Lostoriel did not dare to move a muscle, let alone breathe. The wolf was directly in front of her, she could hear its breath in her ears and see the unbridled rage that flickered in its silver-grey eyes. Should it attack, she would be the first and for the second time that day she knew that, this was not the way she intended to die.

The elf calmed her breathing, and squared her shoulders, rising to her full height and keeping her hand firmly wrapped around her sword all while never taking her gaze away from the infuriated predator. Lostoriel felt her pulse increase to a steady lope when Dwalin, who stood behind the wolf, reached for his twin axes on his back. She wanted to scream. If he moved, if the wolf anticipated his movement before he could react it would spell the end for the burly dwarf or more likely for herself.

Instead , Lostoriel coughed lightly to attract Dwalin's attention, but it was a futile attempt as his gaze was firmly locked on Thorin behind her. She sighed through her nose and tried again, this time hoarsely whispering out the corner of her mouth, "Dwalin! Stand down!"

The dwarf at first did not listen and hesitated to lower his axes until he saw Thorin nod his head and watched the blood drain from his friend's face. His own heartbeat started to race uncontrollably as- to the horror of the entire Company- Lostoriel began to speak soothingly in Sindarin, practically cooing to the wolf as she took a tentative step towards it.

"What is she doing?" breathed Balin, echoing the same terrified sentiments of his companions. The Company held their breath as Lostoriel approached it, never breaking eye contact as her calm, soothing words rolled off her tongue and into the ears of the wolf. She took another tentative step towards it, her eyes holding compassion and her chin respect. Many of them were torn between feelings of terror or awe at the blatant stupidity and wonder of their elf.

Lostoriel only hoped that they couldn't see the way her hands shook, or hear the tremor in her voice. She had seen her father do this once, a long time ago with a much smaller wolf and at the moment it seemed as if the creature was still intent on ripping her to shreds. If what she needed to do next went wrong, she'd be dead in a matter of seconds.

Lostoriel continued to soothe the wolf in the endless string of her home tongue, trying her best to keep her voice steady. Slowly, like the tide crawling to the shore, she saw the white fury in its eyes burn away and the wolf lower itself from its hackles. As the wolf relaxed so did she.

Guardedly, she was not that stupid, Lostoriel began to lower herself to the ground. Moving a few centimetres at a time the wolf began to inch towards the ground and continued to speak to it, using only words that were honest and true, hoping to gain the wolf's trust in this way.

Lostoriel was now bending her knees, one hand slowly stretching towards the wolf, whose body was hovering just above the ground. She let her voice become light, still carrying a tone of command whilst she willed her eyes to reflect only compassion.

The wolf's growling died to a slow whimper as the elf lowered herself to the hay covered ground, sitting back on her legs. With her palm still outstretched she relaxed only the slightest bit, she needed the wolf to know who was in charge.

Tentatively, as if sniffing at the bushes for a potential predator, the wolf sniffed her hand. Its frosty stare melting into uncertainty and then, with one final sniff, to a sea of warm compassion as it licked her hand.

"Not so feisty now are we?" Hummed Lostoriel as the wolf allowed her to pat its salt and ash coloured muzzle. The elf looked deeply into his eyes, at least, she assumed the wolf was a male. The wolf jolted his head up and down in rapid movements, wanting Lostoriel to pet him further up his head and behind his ears.

The elf let out a shaky laugh which was mimicked, rather accurately by her companions, as she sunk her fingers into the thick layers of fur and scratched the wolf behind her ears with both hands.

The wolf whined contentedly and licked happily at Lostoriel's wrists, enjoying the sound of the elf's words and her soft touch. Then he flopped into his side to let Lostoriel rub his belly, "All that growling and fussing for nothing were we boy?" she cooed and then proceeded to sit a little straighter as the wolf's entire underbelly came into view. Lostoriel cocked her head to the side, "Or should I say girl?"

The wolf shivered under her touch and leapt to her feet, bristling from nose to tail as she realised that she had been completely vulnerable in front of the furless creature before her. Lostoriel however, did not recoil, rather she stayed put and held out her open palms to the wolf. This time the wolf sniffed her hands once, placed her tail between her legs and bolted towards the side door through which she had appeared.

Once the wolf was out the door, Gloin managed to latch it down and Bofur draped himself dramatically on a pillar, clutching his chest as if his heart would explode. He watched the crestfallen expression on Lostoriel's face, but couldn't help but bask in the relief that the creature was gone.

"I don't know about you lads, but I think I've seen my life flash before my eyes enough for one day." He walked towards Lostoriel, who remained sulking and unmoved from where the wolf had left her. Bofur placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He surprised himself with his next words, "Thank you, but best not to push your luck with such creatures. Nasty , unpredictable tempers they have."

Lostoriel flashed him a watery smile and nodded, hating that he was correct. "True enough Bofur."

The elf rose to her feet and tried to regain what little dignity she had left. WoodElves had a knack for befriending all sorts of creatures, her brother and his array of questionable pets from the forest was testament to that. But something about the way that wolf had looked at her seemed to resonate within herself.

"Well we can safely add a wolf to the number of creatures you've tried to befriend over the years." said Thorin cheerfully as he reached up to squeeze her shoulder, "Thank you for not letting us get eaten."

Lostoriel hated the mischievous grin that crawled onto his face, "Went better than the time you attempted to befriend that tabby cat , Don't you think?"

She glowered at him and he took pleasure in his ability to irk her, "If you value your teeth Thorin Oakenshield you'd best not tell that one. Or shall I tell your nephews the thrilling tale of the wild dogs?"

Before Thorin could answer Kili grinned, always eager to hear more about the misadventures of his infallible uncle. "What wild dogs?"

Thorin sighed, gazing up to the heavens, "I'm never going to live that one down am I ?"

"Never." Came Lostoriel's joyful reply as she settled into the hay and began the tale of how the mighty Thorin Oakenshield got himself stuck in the top most boughs of a pine tree whilst on the run from his hungry pursuers.

* * *

The cold blanket of the night had drawn itself across the world some hours ago. It was a starless night as the Company sprawled themselves around Beorn's barn. The hay crunched as the dwarves shifted in their sleep, after months of sleeping on the cold, hard ground with pebbles sticking into their backsides, the hay was not unlike the heavenly soft mattresses of Rivendell.

Lostoriel, after her disappointing incident with the wolf, had curled up towards the back of the barn. Far enough from the cows to not catch any unsavoury smells and unfortunately close enough to the dwarves that their snores blared like foghorns in the night. She shifted in her sleep for the fifth time in an hour and rested her head between her arms as she tried to protect her ears from the cacophony of lawnmowers that the dwarves clearly kept inside their mouths.

She rolled onto her left, her eyes glazing over as she attempted to sleep for the umpteenth time. But her dreams held no solace for her that night.

Images of Smaug flashed in her mind, pillars of fire rising up from all directions, she was in the centre of Erebor with Thror's treasure horde being swept up in waves by Smaug's wings. Like an ocean of shimmering gold, the millions of golden coins and priceless gems were tossed an turned, biting into her skin like sea- sand in the wind. She caught a flicker of movement out the corner of her eye, upon a grand staircase, there were two people hurrying towards the exit. It was Thorin with Thror tucked beneath his arm as Thorin dragged his grandfather away from the worthless treasure horde. The only thing Thror cared about.

He waved one arm madly in the air and shouted across the chasm, but she heard nothing as Smaug stalked towards her, a trail of fire already creeping up his neck.

"I'll come back! I promise!" Thorin's words echoed louder than the flames, louder than the regret she felt rising in her throat as she saw her father's face in her dreams. Saw the anger seething off him, the fury raging in his eyes.

Suddenly everything was in flames. Searing, raging flames of amber and yellow and the image of an eye flashed in her mind. Its amber iris glowing cold in her dream, she could feel the malice dripping from it, stealing what warm and hope she had within her and boring into her with its black slit of an eyelid.

Lostoriel jolted upright, panting heavily. Her heart raced uncontrollably as if it was trying to escape her ribcage. "What...What was that?" she whispered into the night.

That,was not Smaug's eye. That had been an image she had only seen in history books, a symbol of an evil so great that it devoured all in its path. That's when she caught it, a feint glimmer of gold in the dark as Bilbo pocketed his ring.

Lostoriel's eyes widened, a deep horror setting into her chest, no, she thought as she leant against a wooden post, her entire body shivered in fear, it couldn't be. That power was lost ages ago, in a wasteland far to the east. She shook her head and wiped away the sweat around her neck and told herself that it was only the fear from her dream.

It, the One Ring and its master had been lost for millennia, myth and legend had seen to that. But there was no way that now the enemy stirring once again.

"You don't think I'm going mad do you?" she asked the nearest cow, naturally it didn't answer and simply stared indifferently at the flustered elf.

Lostoriel got to her feet, pulling out the stray strands of hay that had buried themselves in her everywhere as she silently treaded to the dining table, where they had left a jug of water.

The dwarves were sound asleep, Kili lay with one arm stretched across Fili's face as his brother snored like a power drill. Bilbo however turned a fraction of a second too late and Lostoriel knew that he feigned sleep. She sighed to herself, why he was so protective of that trinket was beyond her at the moment. Her dry throat took up the foremost of her thoughts.

She heard a shrill howl, a steady murmuring as she poured out the water into a wooden cup. It was not the wolf from earlier.

Lightly side-stepping Gandalf, who had fallen asleep against the wall, her heart lurched in her chest as she noticed that he slept with his eyes open. It was unnerving. Lostoriel had become accustomed to the ways of humans, who looked dead in their sleep with their eyes closed. But watching Gandalf lay there, his glazed eyes seemed to follow her as she hopped up onto the table bench and grimaced at the wizard below. She wondered if she looked like that when she slept.

Lostoriel peered out of the open window and saw the expanse of Beorn's garden basked in the silence of the night. She could feel their eyes boring into her skull and gazed out, beyond the high hedges.

She caught flicker of shadow against the indigo of the night. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and Azog came into clear view. Filthy and bald, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight along with a second orc who was just as massive and hideous as him.

The hair at the back of her neck stood on end as one of the barn doors was cracked open. Immediately her hand went to her sword as a giant emerged from the night. He was the size of a small house, taller than the average man, with a fey shock of hair that stretched down his spine like a mane.

Lostoriel blanched, that was their host. Standing with only a pair of trousers on, his chest was heavy set like bricks in a wall and bulging arm muscles which were the size of her head. This was Beorn, she realised with an anxious gulp.

Her heart thudded in her chest. He was coming towards her. Within a matter of a few long strides he was standing on the opposite side of the table. Lostoriel blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. She could barely make out his face in the shadow of the ceiling, where his hair lightly brushed the wood.

"You are no man?" he stated rather than asked in a low voice that carried like a shout in the night. His voice was rough, almost as if sandpaper grated against it as he spoke in a thick , rolling accent.

Lostoriel hopped off the bench, landing with a soft thud on the stone floor. She bowed her head, her hand coming to her heart and stretching out towards him. She had seen the hardness in his eyes and knew it would do no good to lie to him. "Lostoriel daughter of the ElvenKing Thranduil."

She rose to her full height and met his dark eyes , flashing him a small smile. In the dim light she couldn't make out his features, again something seemed vaguely familiar about him, though she couldn't tell just what it was. "You must be Beorn."

He folded his arms, "Aye, I am he. Shouldn't you be dead?" he inquired.

Lostoriel was taken aback at the brusque nature of his question and she smirked, at least he didn't beat around the bush. "I got tired of it," she shrugged, "turns out it's rather boring."

Beorn nodded, in a shocked but understanding gesture. He was torn between laughing and wondering if he was talking to a ghost. So instead he raised the jug of water in her direction before downing its entire contents in one long gulp. He inhaled deeply and strode towards her, his footsteps were surprisingly quiet for one as large as he.

The skinchanger stood beside her, his eyes slowly scanning the fringes of the forest beyond his home. From the corner of his eye he caught her staring at him out the corner of her eyes with a deep frown. He smirked, "You do not remember me do you?"

She shook her head, shamed-faced that she memory of him. "Forgive me." admitted Lostoriel, "My memory is not what it once was."

He turned to face her, a hint of sadness in his eyes and his voice, "You need not apologise. You saved my son from a pack of wargs when he was just a cub."

Realisation dawned on Lostoriel, it had been decades ago, long before the Sack of Erebor. "I remember now." she smiled at the memory of the tiny bear cub she had found lost amongst the trees in the GreenWood. "He must be grown."

The pair turned their attention to the movement at the edge of the treeline, "Aye. He's as tall and strong as me, in fact I think he may be stronger and wiser for that matter." fondly said Beorn before his expression turned dark as he caught sight of the orcs moving east. He saw Lostoriel's hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "What business does an elf have with Azog the Defiler?"

Lostoriel scowled, "The business of hunting him down before he gets to me and my companions. Tell me, who was the orc who spoke to him before he left? The pale one, with the chain across his head? Where are they going?" her words died down to a whisper as she studied them, there must have been twenty or so hidden in the shadows. "They have reinforcements."

Beorn grunted, surprised at the hatred dripping from her words. He didn't take his eyes off the sight of the pack that stalked his house, "That is Bolg, the spawn of Azog. He's a trained murderer like his father. Rumours have begun to spread that he is a commander of legions from Gundabad, many have said that he kills under the command of the power that rests in Dol Guldur. He's been skulking around these lands for the past two days, now I know why."

Lostoriel inhaled sharply, the cold hand of fear gripped her heart. As a child she had heard stories of the horrors that had taken place in that forsaken mountain fortress, in the forsaken wasteland of a kingdom that had stolen many of her people. That had stolen her mother.

Lostoriel turned and slumped against the wall, she stared unfocused at the moonlight playing on the opposite wall, she fiddled with the ring on her finger, "They're after us." What she meant was that they were after Thorin and his nephews, "What need has the enemy for legions?"

She may have asked Beorn, but the answers had already formed in her mind. If Angmar was being awoken then the power at Dol Guldur must have been strengthening. She remembered what Lord Elrond had said of the unchecked power that festered in the East and a fire ignited within her. If the White Council had only listened when her father had told them of the darkness that had awoken in the abandoned fortress, of the dying trees and animals and of their rivers that had been poisoned, then maybe this could have been stopped. The image of the eye from her dream flashed in her mind again.

"No." whispered Lostoriel, she told herself that she was just imagining things, her mind was jumping into waters too deep for her to swim.

If the Enemy had awakened, then the world would begin to burn. Lostoriel laughed a humourless, hollow laugh. It was impossible, it was unthinkable. She was just sleep deprived with an overactive was the only possible explanation for her train of thought.

Her laugh died on her lips when she saw the graveness in Beorn's eyes. The skin changer could see the cogs whirring in her eyes. He could smell the fear radiating from her and knew that she had come to the conclusion he had been having sleepless nights over. He cut her off as the question formed on her lips. The vile scent of orc wafted on the breeze, he bowed, "We should wait till the night has passed before we speak of such things, My Lady."

Beorn strode around the table. "Where are you going?" asked Lostoriel, her sword ready at her side as she followed him.

He forwent the steps and emitted a low whistle so as to not awaken the sleeping figures in his barn. Less than half a minute passed when the soft padding of paws on the hay brought with it the she-wolf that Lostoriel had encountered earlier that day. Beorn bent to hastily scratch the wolf behind her ears before he strode to the door, the animal happily following him. He paused at the threshold, blocking the way with his massive body as Lostoriel stood, rather agitatedly before him. "No," he firmly commanded and Lostoriel raised a sharp eyebrow.

"No?"

Beorn nodded, folding his branch like arms across his chest, "You're staying here."

Lostoriel already began to object him, she was most certainly not going to do that. But before she could voice her thoughts Beorn stopped her. "I'm going to scare them off is all, I don't want their murderous hides anywhere near my home."

"Then I'll join you." She resolved, knowing that she'd never be able to sleep after their more than worrying conversation. She flashed him a grim smile.

Beorn shared an exasperated sigh with the wolf beside him, then turned and walked out the door. And shut it firmly behind him before the elf had a chance to follow him. She may have saved his son in the past, but that didn't mean he was going to let her tromp off with him in the middle of the night to scare off the orcs. He hardly even knew her. though judging by the sureness with which he held her sword and the dark look in her eyes he knew that she was a skilled warrior. Beorn halted in his tracks and sighed again, his wolf plodded up to him an licked his hand. He gently stroked her muzzle, "I suppose an extra hand will not hurt eh?"

He strode back to the side door, unbolted it and flung it open to unsurprisingly find the elf waiting there with her arms folded. What had he expected anyway? He had heard that King Thranduil was as stubborn and hard-headed as any Dwarf and he was renowned to be as unmovable as the mountains themselves. Had he been so foolish as to assume that the ElvenKing's offspring would be any different?

He muttered something unintelligible to the wolf, it almost sounded as if his words were a distorted form of barking. Lostoriel listened carefully and caught the unexpected and truly absurd name of the wolf. She smirked, "You named her Sunflower?"

The wolf looked up at Lostoriel at the mention of her name. Sunflower's massive tale tentatively swept back and forth. Beorn glared at the elf as he pushed the side door open, however, his red cheeks destroyed the façade and he neatly avoided the question as he stepped out into the night. He pulled out a spare quiver of arrows he had hidden behind a barrel and left it in the flickering torch light, along with a small hunting bow and threw them at her and continued to plod off into the night. Lostoriel caught both with ease, slinging the quiver across her back and testing the draw weight of the bow.

"Well, are you coming or not?"He called over his shoulder.

Lostoriel grinned and followed him into the gloom of the twilight, her silvery hair catching the moonlight that managed to straggle its way into the thick mist that encroached the shallow valley. The mountains were shrouded in the drapes of the fog, their peaks blending into the ivory sky as Lostoriel kept a safe distance from Beorn as he transformed into a bear.

It happened so quickly that her mind barely had time to comprehend what her eyes had just seen. Keeping watch was by no means a glorious task, but it was something to do to keep her overactive imagination at bay.


	17. History Catches Up to Us All

The cold blanket of the night had drawn itself across the world some hours ago. It was a starless night as the Company sprawled themselves around Beorn's barn. The hay crunched as the dwarves shifted in their sleep, after months of sleeping on the cold, hard ground with pebbles sticking into their backsides, the hay was not unlike the heavenly soft mattresses of Rivendell.

Lostoriel, after her disappointing incident with the wolf, had curled up towards the back of the barn. Far enough from the cows to not catch any unsavory smells and unfortunately close enough to the dwarves that their snores blared like foghorns in the night. She shifted in her sleep for the fifth time in an hour and rested her head between her arms as she tried to protect her ears from the cacophony of lawnmowers that the dwarves clearly kept inside their mouths.

She rolled onto her left, her eyes glazing over as she attempted to sleep for the umpteenth time. But her dreams held no solace for her that night.

Images of Smaug flashed in her mind, pillars of fire rising up from all directions, she was in the centre of Erebor with Thror's treasure horde being swept up in waves by Smaug's wings. Like an ocean of shimmering gold, the millions of golden coins and priceless gems were tossed an turned, biting into her skin like sea- sand in the wind. She caught a flicker of movement out the corner of her eye, upon a grand staircase, there were two people hurrying towards the exit. It was Thorin with Thror tucked beneath his arm as Thorin dragged his grandfather away from the worthless treasure horde. The only thing Thror cared about.

He waved one arm madly in the air and shouted across the chasm, but she heard nothing as Smaug stalked towards her, a trail of fire already creeping up his neck.

"I'll come back! I promise!" Thorin's words echoed louder than the flames, louder than the regret she felt rising in her throat as she saw her father's face in her dreams. Saw the anger seething off him, the fury raging in his eyes.

Suddenly everything was in flames. Searing, raging flames of amber and yellow and the image of an eye flashed in her mind. Its amber iris glowing cold in her dream, she could feel the malice dripping from it, stealing what warm and hope she had within her and boring into her with its black slit of an eyelid.

Lostoriel jolted upright, panting heavily. Her heart raced uncontrollably as if it was trying to escape her ribcage. "What...What was that?" she whispered into the night.

That,was not Smaug's eye. That had been an image she had only seen in history books, a symbol of an evil so great that it devoured all in its path. That's when she caught it, a feint glimmer of gold in the dark as Bilbo pocketed his ring.

Lostoriel's eyes widened, a deep horror setting into her chest, no, she thought as she leant against a wooden post, her entire body shivered in fear, it couldn't be. That power was lost ages ago, in a wasteland far to the east. She shook her head and wiped away the sweat around her neck and told herself that it was only the fear from her dream.

It, the One Ring and its master had been lost for millennia, myth and legend had seen to that. But there was no way that now the enemy stirring once again.

"You don't think I'm going mad do you?" she asked the nearest cow, naturally it didn't answer and simply stared indifferently at the flustered elf.

Lostoriel got to her feet, pulling out the stray strands of hay that had buried themselves in her everywhere as she silently treaded to the dining table, where they had left a jug of water.

The dwarves were sound asleep, Kili lay with one arm stretched across Fili's face as his brother snored like a power drill. Bilbo however turned a fraction of a second too late and Lostoriel knew that he feigned sleep. She sighed to herself, why he was so protective of that trinket was beyond her at the moment. Her dry throat took up the foremost of her thoughts.

She heard a shrill howl, a steady murmuring as she poured out the water into a wooden cup. It was not the wolf from earlier.

Lightly side-stepping Gandalf, who had fallen asleep against the wall, her heart lurched in her chest as she noticed that he slept with his eyes open. It was unnerving. Lostoriel had become accustomed to the ways of humans, who looked dead in their sleep with their eyes closed. But watching Gandalf lay there, his glazed eyes seemed to follow her as she hopped up onto the table bench and grimaced at the wizard below. She wondered if she looked like that when she slept.

Lostoriel peered out of the open window and saw the expanse of Beorn's garden basked in the silence of the night. She could feel their eyes boring into her skull and gazed out, beyond the high hedges.

She caught flicker of shadow against the indigo of the night. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and Azog came into clear view. Filthy and bald, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight along with a second orc who was just as massive and hideous as him.

The hair at the back of her neck stood on end as one of the barn doors was cracked open. Immediately her hand went to her sword as a giant emerged from the night. He was the size of a small house, taller than the average man, with a fey shock of hair that stretched down his spine like a mane.

Lostoriel blanched, that was their host. Standing with only a pair of trousers on, his chest was heavy set like bricks in a wall and bulging arm muscles which were the size of her head. This was Beorn, she realised with an anxious gulp.

Her heart thudded in her chest. He was coming towards her. Within a matter of a few long strides he was standing on the opposite side of the table. Lostoriel blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. She could barely make out his face in the shadow of the ceiling, where his hair lightly brushed the wood.

"You are no man?" he stated rather than asked in a low voice that carried like a shout in the night. His voice was rough, almost as if sandpaper grated against it as he spoke in a thick , rolling accent.

Lostoriel hopped off the bench, landing with a soft thud on the stone floor. She bowed her head, her hand coming to her heart and stretching out towards him. She had seen the hardness in his eyes and knew it would do no good to lie to him. "Lostoriel daughter of the ElvenKing Thranduil."

She rose to her full height and met his dark eyes , flashing him a small smile. In the dim light she couldn't make out his features, again something seemed vaguely familiar about him, though she couldn't tell just what it was. "You must be Beorn."

He folded his arms, "Aye, I am he. Shouldn't you be dead?" he inquired.

Lostoriel was taken aback at the brusque nature of his question and she smirked, at least he didn't beat around the bush. "I got tired of it," she shrugged, "turns out it's rather boring."

Beorn nodded, in a shocked but understanding gesture. He was torn between laughing and wondering if he was talking to a ghost. So instead he raised the jug of water in her direction before downing its entire contents in one long gulp. He inhaled deeply and strode towards her, his footsteps were surprisingly quiet for one as large as he.

The skinchanger stood beside her, his eyes slowly scanning the fringes of the forest beyond his home. From the corner of his eye he caught her staring at him out the corner of her eyes with a deep frown. He smirked, "You do not remember me do you?"

She shook her head, shamed-faced that she memory of him. "Forgive me." admitted Lostoriel, "My memory is not what it once was."

He turned to face her, a hint of sadness in his eyes and his voice, "You need not apologise. You saved my son from a pack of wargs when he was just a cub."

Realisation dawned on Lostoriel, it had been decades ago, long before the Sack of Erebor. "I remember now." she smiled at the memory of the tiny bear cub she had found lost amongst the trees in the GreenWood. "He must be grown."

The pair turned their attention to the movement at the edge of the treeline, "Aye. He's as tall and strong as me, in fact I think he may be stronger and wiser for that matter." fondly said Beorn before his expression turned dark as he caught sight of the orcs moving east. He saw Lostoriel's hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "What business does an elf have with Azog the Defiler?"

Lostoriel scowled, "The business of hunting him down before he gets to me and my companions. Tell me, who was the orc who spoke to him before he left? The pale one, with the chain across his head? Where are they going?" her words died down to a whisper as she studied them, there must have been twenty or so hidden in the shadows. "They have reinforcements."

Beorn grunted, surprised at the hatred dripping from her words. He didn't take his eyes off the sight of the pack that stalked his house, "That is Bolg, the spawn of Azog. He's a trained murderer like his father. Rumours have begun to spread that he is a commander of legions from Gundabad, many have said that he kills under the command of the power that rests in Dol Guldur. He's been skulking around these lands for the past two days, now I know why."

Lostoriel inhaled sharply, the cold hand of fear gripped her heart. As a child she had heard stories of the horrors that had taken place in that forsaken mountain fortress, in the forsaken wasteland of a kingdom that had stolen many of her people. That had stolen her mother.

Lostoriel turned and slumped against the wall, she stared unfocused at the moonlight playing on the opposite wall, she fiddled with the ring on her finger, "They're after us." What she meant was that they were after Thorin and his nephews, "What need has the enemy for legions?"

She may have asked Beorn, but the answers had already formed in her mind. If Angmar was being awoken then the power at Dol Guldur must have been strengthening. She remembered what Lord Elrond had said of the unchecked power that festered in the East and a fire ignited within her. If the White Council had only listened when her father had told them of the darkness that had awoken in the abandoned fortress, of the dying trees and animals and of their rivers that had been poisoned, then maybe this could have been stopped. The image of the eye from her dream flashed in her mind again.

"No." whispered Lostoriel, she told herself that she was just imagining things, her mind was jumping into waters too deep for her to swim.

If the Enemy had awakened, then the world would begin to burn. Lostoriel laughed a humorless, hollow laugh. It was impossible, it was unthinkable. She was just sleep deprived with an overactive was the only possible explanation for her train of thought.

Her laugh died on her lips when she saw the graveness in Beorn's eyes. The skin changer could see the cogs whirring in her eyes. He could smell the fear radiating from her and knew that she had come to the conclusion he had been having sleepless nights over. He cut her off as the question formed on her lips. The vile scent of orc wafted on the breeze, he bowed, "We should wait till the night has passed before we speak of such things, My Lady."

Beorn strode around the table. "Where are you going?" asked Lostoriel, her sword ready at her side as she followed him.

He forwent the steps and emitted a low whistle so as to not awaken the sleeping figures in his barn. Less than half a minute passed when the soft padding of paws on the hay brought with it the she-wolf that Lostoriel had encountered earlier that day. Beorn bent to hastily scratch the wolf behind her ears before he strode to the door, the animal happily following him. He paused at the threshold, blocking the way with his massive body as Lostoriel stood, rather agitatedly before him. "No," he firmly commanded and Lostoriel raised a sharp eyebrow.

"No?"

Beorn nodded, folding his branch like arms across his chest, "You're staying here."

Lostoriel already began to object him, she was most certainly not going to do that. But before she could voice her thoughts Beorn stopped her. "I'm going to scare them off is all, I don't want their murderous hides anywhere near my home."

"Then I'll join you." She resolved, knowing that she'd never be able to sleep after their more than worrying conversation. She flashed him a grim smile.

Beorn shared an exasperated sigh with the wolf beside him, then turned and walked out the door. And shut it firmly behind him before the elf had a chance to follow him. She may have saved his son in the past, but that didn't mean he was going to let her tromp off with him in the middle of the night to scare off the orcs. He hardly even knew her. though judging by the sureness with which he held her sword and the dark look in her eyes he knew that she was a skilled warrior. Beorn halted in his tracks and sighed again, his wolf plodded up to him an licked his hand. He gently stroked her muzzle, "I suppose an extra hand will not hurt eh?"

He strode back to the side door, unbolted it and flung it open to unsurprisingly find the elf waiting there with her arms folded. What had he expected anyway? He had heard that King Thranduil was as stubborn and hard-headed as any Dwarf and he was renowned to be as unmovable as the mountains themselves. Had he been so foolish as to assume that the ElvenKing's offspring would be any different?

He muttered something unintelligible to the wolf, it almost sounded as if his words were a distorted form of barking. Lostoriel listened carefully and caught the unexpected and truly absurd name of the wolf. She smirked, "You named her Sunflower?"

The wolf looked up at Lostoriel at the mention of her name. Sunflower's massive tale tentatively swept back and forth. Beorn glared at the elf as he pushed the side door open, however, his red cheeks destroyed the façade and he neatly avoided the question as he stepped out into the night. He pulled out a spare quiver of arrows he had hidden behind a barrel and left it in the flickering torch light, along with a small hunting bow and threw them at her and continued to plod off into the night. Lostoriel caught both with ease, slinging the quiver across her back and testing the draw weight of the bow.

"Well, are you coming or not?"He called over his shoulder.

Lostoriel grinned and followed him into the gloom of the twilight, her silvery hair catching the moonlight that managed to straggle its way into the thick mist that encroached the shallow valley. The mountains were shrouded in the drapes of the fog, their peaks blending into the ivory sky as Lostoriel kept a safe distance from Beorn as he transformed into a bear.

It happened so quickly that her mind barely had time to comprehend what her eyes had just seen. Keeping watch was by no means a glorious task, but it was something to do to keep her overactive imagination at bay.

* * *

"So you are the one they call Oakenshield." said Beorn as more of a statement than a question whilst he poured a generous helping of fresh milk into Fili's too large tankard. "Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

Thorin leaned against the pillar not far from the table, his arms held tightly across his chest as he guardedly regarded Beorn. "You know of Azog? How?"

"My people were the first to live in the mountains, before the Orcs came down from the north. The Defiler attempted to kill many of my people." Beorn's eyes hardened, "He and his followers raided our villages, sent spies into the towns of men who already saw us as outsiders to pillage our land and set fire to our crops."

The skinchanger glanced at Lostoriel, who unknowingly stared at the shackle on one of his wrists, "They captured you." She whispered as the realisation smacked her in the face. It had been too dark the previous night to notice the rusted manacles around his wrist.

"Aye princess. Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him."

Lostoriel absentmindedly brushed her fingers through her hair as she felt the weight of Azog's foot on her back, the metal biting into her skin and his hand around her neck as he squeezed the air out of her and stripped her of her dignity.

"There are others like you?" asked Bilbo, his curiosity had once again overtaken his imagination.

"Once we were a people of many. We are still strong in number and in strength. Many of us were lucky to have escaped, to have defeated those vile creatures, but not all of us. "

The Company fell into silence, many of their hearts sinking at the crestfallen eyes of Beorn. He seemed to age in that moment, his entire being seeming to shrink before them. Then he straightened his shoulders and glanced between Gandalf and Thorin. "You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn?"

He had long since guessed the reason for Thorin Oakenshield travelling this far East. The elf had been tight-lipped about why they were in his home, not outwardly expressing her distrust of the skinchanger, saying that it was not her place to tell him of their travels. He had accepted her answer graciously and had deduced the rest by the remaining three members of Durin's line standing before him in his garden.

"Before Durin's Day falls, yes." Answered Gandalf with a nod, setting down his tankard and wiping away the milk that had fallen on his beard.

"You are running out of time."

"Which is why we must go through Mirkwood."

The new name of her forest sent shivers running up Lostoriel's spine. She hated it. She hated that everyone she had asked had been unwilling to tell her what had become of her home that the woodsmen would begin to call it as such. Beorn leaned against the wall above the unburning heart, regarding them all, but his eyes looking sorrowfully at Lostoriel.

"A darkness lies upon that forest. Fell things creep beneath those trees, spiders of the spawn of Ungolith, wargs and serpents. There is an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. The WoodElves say he grows in power, they have been pushed further north, the southern borders of the forest are beyond dangerous." Beorn met her eyes with a sad smile, "Your home is not what you remember it to be my lady." He shrugged apologetically, "I would not venture there except in great need."

Lostoriel leaned forward on her elbows, her hands clasped together as she rubbed her forehead against two fingers. That was not what she wanted to hear. It was ill news indeed that such darkness had crept its way back into their woods with such power and that they had been unable to resist it. "We can take the Elven Road can we not? Surely it is still safe Beorn?"

Gandalf nodded his affirmation, though the uncertainty in his weary eyes gave him away.

"Safe?" Beorn laughed bitterly, "The Wood-Elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. They're less wise and more dangerous. But it matters not."

This time the dwarves stared at her, uncertain as to whether they should agree with their host or stand up for their elf. A murmur of assent rose from most of the Company. They had had first-hand experience of Lostoriel's impulsive, unpredictable and borderline reckless actions. As far as many of them were concerned it was nothing short of a miracle that she had survived this far into their journey.

"Firstly I'm wounded that you should think so of me. However less wise may be a stretch." She lanced meaningfully at Beorn.

"Getting through the forest shouldn't be that difficult, after all we do have their princess travelling with us." , receiving murmurs of agreement.

"Surely they would welcome you with open arms should we use their path?" said Bilbo from beside her.

Lostoriel opened her mouth to speak and then pressed her lips together. What had occurred that day tugged mercilessly at her heart, Lostoriel chewed the inside of her cheek. She would have to tell them at some point, especially if they were to travel through the GreenWood. She sucked in a breath, "As much as I appreciate your optimism. It may prove even more difficult for us to pass through as I did not leave the GreenWood on the best of terms. I don't expect that my father will be... glad... to see me after all these years."

The awkward silence that filled the air was suffocating. Thorin, who had been looking at her as she spoke dropped his gaze to his knees. The dwarves too sensed that she did not wish to continue speaking and so they did not press on. Thorin came to the rescue and coughed lightly to catch Beorn's attention.

"What do you mean?" asked Thorin, swinging around to fully face Beorn to cut off any further bantering that may occur between the elf and wizard.

"These lands are crawling with Orcs. Their numbers are growing, and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive."

"He is right." Lostoriel nodded, recalling the reinforcements that they had seen skulking about the nearby forest in the dead of night. As she spoke a soft squeaking of an animal pricked her ears, "Like I said earlier, Bolg son of Azog is hunting us. From what Beorn has told me, they will stop at nothing to stop our quest and end the line of Durin. These are no ordinary orcs Thorin."

"Tell me princess, do you trust these dwarves?" Beorn asked , all pretences of familiarity disregarded.

Lostoriel regarded the fifteen expectant faces surrounding her. They, Bilbo included, were stubborn enough to make her curse, pig-headed and burly as sailors and they riled her up more than she thought possible. However they were loyal, kind and had saved her life on more than one occasion. She did not have any second thoughts, "With my life."

Beorn nodded and rose from the bench slowly walking towards Thorin, twitching whilst he spoke, "I don't like dwarves." he gently plucked a white mouse that had been sniffing around the plate of cheeses, " They're greedy and blind, blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own."

He stopped before the dwarf, "But Orcs I hate more. What do you need?"

* * *

Their council with Beorn had long since passed, most of the Company had gone down to the river to bath and everyone was all the more happy for it. Beorn had let Lostoriel use his guest washroom, which was really his son's old bathing chamber that had not been used for some time. Lostoriel had been glad for the privacy and the hot water which had eased the pain from her back and shoulders. It had been nearly three days since Azog had stepped on her back and the bruise had not yet healed and her muscle around her throat where he had picked her up was still tender.

She had lain in the soothing water until it turned cold, with the strong scent of lavender soap rising from the water and filling her senses. There were few things that she had missed about earth, hot water that flowed at her beck and call and soap that smelt like the embodiment of forests and rivers. Beorn had offered to lend her a few of his wife's smaller clothes after seeing that Lostoriel's were ripped and stained in half a dozen places. When Lostoriel had asked him if his wife would not mind Beorn smiled appreciatively and had told her that Eafeld, was visiting family in a nearby village and would not mind in the slightest, the clothes were too small for her anyway.

Lostoriel had frowned at her disproportionate reflection in the vertical mirror that stood against the wall that separated the bedroom and the bathroom. The cotton, black tights were much too long for her and bunched around her ankles and over the top of her boots so it looked like she wore bits of elephant skin around her legs. She threaded her arms through the sleeve of the white, linen shirt and realised with a sigh that it reached halfway down her thighs and the sleeves hung at least half an arm's length off her hands.

Lostoriel concluded that if Beorn was anything to go by then his wife would be around his height and stature, which explained why she currently looked like a child trying on her mother's clothing. The elf shrugged philosophically, there was nothing she could do about it except be grateful, Beorn had shown her hospitality beyond what was needed and at least she could travel with these spare clothes through the forest when the winter months would be coming upon them.

She began to button the top when pain flared on her left side. The white, hot pain travelled right down to the tips of her fingers and Lostoriel leaned against the chest of draws beside her. She breathed heavily and quickly, forcing her heart rate to slow so that it did not feel like it was about to pop out of her chest. She stood there for a long time, breathing slowly through gritted teeth as her skin peeled back to reveal years of battle scars and one day's worth of fighting a dragon.

Lostoriel eventually gained enough strength to push herself away from the draws and study her disfigured reflection. To this day it horrified her, how her skin had attempted to heal itself, how the terrible grafting that those doctors had done had only made the pain worse.

Lostoriel was well-built, her muscles were toned and strong, to one side she was perfectly normal and to the other, to the side where half her eye was white and she could see what lay beneath her skin and with her closely cropped hair. She was a nightmare.

A timid knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts, "Lostoriel?"

It was Thorin. Hastily she buttoned up the shirt and threw on the warm, chestnut fleece top over it and unlocked the door. On the other side stood a clean, wet-haired Thorin with two steaming mugs in his hands and the feint sounds of the dwarves causing chaos behind him.

"Sounds like they're having fun out there." She greeted him, uncertain as to what he was doing here. Thorin had all, but avoided her after their council with Beorn

"Count yourself lucky that you were not at the river." He said wryly, "Thought you might want a cup before Bilbo drinks it all." He said with a sheepish smile and handed a mug to her. Lostoriel received it with a nod of thanks and shut the door behind her, leading them both down the hall and then into the kitchen.

She took a sip of the steaming tea and sighed appreciatively, "Have you decided when we're leaving?"

Thorin looked up at her, his features set in seriousness and concern twisting his brows together. "I'm hoping by the end of the week, or sooner. Though it depends on how quickly we can prepare our provisions for the next leg of our journey. Beorn's permitted us to use his workshop to build more bows and arrows for our trek through the woods and to use his ponies to get there."

Lostoriel nodded and sipped at the tea, enjoying the warm sensation it sent flowing through her body. The sooner they left and got through the forest, the better it was for her. Thorin was clearly anxious to get back on the road to Erebor and she would be lying had she said she was not.

"Speaking of going through the woods…" he began tentatively, not wanting to scare her away with what he had in mind. "Are we not going to speak of what transpired that day." Said Thorin softly, his stoic pretense giving way to a kind light in his eyes that she had not seen in ages. "They deserve to know what we may be facing. You deserve to know what you'll be facing."

The elf gulped at met his eyes with steel, she was not ready to confront it. No, it was more that she did not want to acknowledge it. The fact that their friendship had been forbidden and that passing through MirkWood could end brutally for them. What more did he need her to know other than that?

The elf halted in the threshold to the empty kitchen and rolled her eyes. So, this was why he was being so decidedly kind, what Saruman had said to her echoed in her mind. She pushed the thought aside, knowing that she would begin to overthink. "Yes well, the time for speaking of that is not right. There is still much to consider."

Thorin was taken back by her biting tone and softened his voice to reason with her, "Look, I don't want to go into those woods and I know that you don't want to either. But we must and there are things that you need to know Lostoriel before we do."

"Thank you Thorin, but I know enough for now." Said Lostoriel as she rose to her full height and rolled back her shoulders, looking for all the world like Thranduil set in his foul temperament. She left the dwarf standing there with his mouth open to retort and guilt settling into his mind.

* * *

The next day passed by in a blur. Beorn had laid out a spread the previous night for a breakfast that filled their bellies to the limit. After so many months of living on hard rations and leathery tasting water, the food that Beorn prepared was a feast that they welcomed with zeal.

They were physically exhausted and their minds and nerves had been stretched almost to the point of fraying. And so the dwarves had lazed about Beorn's garden for most of the day, eyeing out the colourful vegetable patches with silent disdain. They had wistfully hoped that the skin changer a prodigious appetite akin to their own. As Dwalin had disappointedly vocalised to Bilbo with an unimpressed tone, "The bear, for all his grandeur and enormity had the eating habits of elves."

Bilbo and Lostoriel strolled through Beorn's garden, the hazy afternoon sunlight warmed their faces as they passed under the emerald green boughs of the oak trees that dotted the hedged off garden. Huge bees hummed over their heads as they passed through his apiary that buzzed with life that Bilbo attempted to hide from every time a bumble bee flew over his head.

The cheerful nickering of the shaggy-haired grey and white ponies that pranced about happily in their open pen greeted them as they passed by. Fili and Kili's cries carried to them on the wind as the brother's sparred to one side of the garden, they had offered Lostoriel a chance to join them and she had politely turned them down, more interested in exploring Beorn's garden in peace.

The skin-changer had disappeared sometime into the night, Lostoriel had seen him leave with a sacksful of honey cakes and a flagon of what smelt like ale. He had not yet reappeared, nor had Gandalf. The wizard had said he was going for a walk at dawn had not said when they should expect his return.

Lostoriel had wanted to speak with him, what Thorin had told her and what they had learned from Beorn the previous day sat like boulders upon her shoulders. She had seen the stars above her in her dream again that morning, she had heard the voice singing, calling out to her and she had hoped that Gandalf would have had some explanation for it.

The hobbit clasped his hands behind his back and coughed politely to gain Lostoriel's attention. The elf had barely said a word since their council with Beorn, she had merely strolled beside him, her hands flickering over the wildflowers that seemed to reach out to her and her head stuck in the clouds. Bilbo had chatted about his aching bones and his observations of Beorn's garden for a good fifteen minutes before his voice had faded into the background noise of the river as Lostoriel barely spared him a glance.

He coughed again, this time coming to stand in front of her as they passed beneath another oak tree that had rooted itself near the banks of the river. "I can hear the clogs turning in your head." His hands rested on his hips, "What's going on? You've barely said a word all afternoon."

Lostoriel shot him an apologetic smile, leaned against the thick trunk of the tree and sighed a leaden sigh, "I am sorry. Just thinking over what Beorn said earlier, about the GreenWood. It weighs heavily upon my heart that my home is dying and that we may have to pass through there."

That was an understatement and Lostoriel knew it. The thought of stepping foot in that forest sent waves of fear through her body. It had not been so intimidating to think of returning home at the outset of their journey, but now with the hazy outline of the trees on the farthest stretch of horizon, her stomach twisted into knots.

So much could go wrong, they could die, or fall into the Enchanted River, and the spiders could get to them before the orcs could. Or before her kin. Suddenly the chain hanging on her neck became heavy and icy.

Lostoriel folded her arms across her chest, she had ruined everything that day, left everything suspended in threads of hurt and anger. And now it seemed like there was a minuscule chance of her making amends, especially since she was travelling with the one dwarf her father hated with a vengeance.

"Surely it cannot be as he says." Bilbo tore her from her thoughts, "After all these years are you not happy to return to your home?"

Lostoriel couldn't help but smile at his optimism, he did not yet know of what had transpired. She didn't know if she wanted Bilbo to know. Lostoriel rose to her full height to soak in the last rays of the sun, "I should be, but I'm not. Besides a poisoned forest I don't know what else we will encounter. I do not know who we have lost and who lives. Nor how my family will react to my return," she huffed a laugh through her nose, "I'm not even sure how I'm supposed to greet them. What does one say after being presumed dead?"

He shoved aside the yellowing leaves with his hairy toes, "That is a lot to carry Lostoriel. I- I do not know how to help you, though what I do know is that you should stop worrying about it." Something caught his attention and he frowned, feeling a smooth, round object beneath his foot. Bilbo paused and bent to pick it up. A lovely, rust red acorn rested in his palm. He held it out for her to see, "Worrying only means that you'll give yourself twice as much stress. Your family will welcome you with open arms, I'm sure they'd missed you."

"Thank you Bilbo. I hope you're right about them. I did not leave home on the best of ways."

Bilbo looked up, his brows furrowed together as his interest was piqued, "Is that why Thorin seemed so worried earlier?"

The elf paled and searched his face in wonder, "Nothing slips by you does it? I do not blame him if he feels so about it. There is much that you do not yet know Bilbo Baggins, much that I hope you should never need to know."

Judging from her nostalgic, but serious tone Bilbo realised that it was best to not press on with the topic. He knew that if Lostoriel wanted to speak with him about it she would have already, he also knew that elves were just as secretive as dwarves, although that may have been a biased opinion since Gloin had muttered about Lostoriel's apparent tight-lipped stories that they would never hear.

He nodded towards the rest of the garden that was basked in the sunlight and the pair resumed their strolling. They lapsed into a companionable silence that was short lived when Sunflower bounded through the field of lavender and long grass that formed part of Beorn's property and nearly knocked the hobbit over.

The wolf sniffed around his feet first before nudging her massive head into his stomach, "Oh! Hello there girl," said Bilbo as he scratched her behind her ears. He did not have to bend down to pet Sunflower since she stood just above his belly button. Lostoriel thought it to be amusing when she pictured the wolf standing on her hind legs and towering over the hobbit.

Bilbo looked up at her, whilst Sunflower trotted between them, her nose twitching madly as she caught some scent on the air, "Can I ask you something?"

"You already did." She smirked triumphantly.

"Yes well you know what I mean!"

Lostoriel grinned at him and nodded for Bilbo to continue speaking. The river gurgled happily as it snaked around the boulders, she watched mesmerized by the way the water rippled around them, breaking off into rivulets and then joining together in a mess of white foam. She and Bilbo stopped beside it to watch how the sunlight danced on the water.

"What is Dol Guldur? The place Beorn spoke of yesterday?" asked Bilbo, shielding his eyes with one hand and petting Sunflower's head with the other.

Lostoriel sucked in a deep breath and gathered her thoughts, "It is a place I should hope you would never have to set foot in Bilbo."

She stated simply, hoping that he would take her answer for what it was. He looked up at her with an unimpressed stare and Lostoriel realised then that Bilbo was sharper than she thought him to be. Lostoriel sank into the plush grass and stretched her legs in front of her, grunting as Sunflower plopped half her body onto her thighs. "Come sit, it is a long tale."

Bilbo sat cross legged besides her, frowning as the wolf's tale swished back and forth and hit him on his knees with a surprising amount of force.

The elf stroked Sunflower's long, grey fur as she spoke, staring off into the mountains on the horizon. "Amon Lanc is what my people called the Hill of Sorcery many centuries ago when the forest was still young and untainted. We lived in the boughs of the trees, in houses so tall and magnificent that it rivalled the beauty of Lorien. Amon Lanc was the capitol of the realm and the fortress the stronghold of my grandfather, Oropher's power. But the days grew dark, evil crept into the world and our forest began to burn. The outlying villages around Amon Lanc were beginning to be destroyed, razed to the ground by the forces of evil. My father and grandfather had no choice but to lead our people further north to the Mountains of MirkWood, where our fortress palace is now. There was peace, but not a long lived on." The elf paused for breath, the world had silenced itself around them, as if it too recalled the time when a darker power ruled over the land.

"What happened after that?" asked Bilbo, letting the shards of grass he had been picking at fall to the ground.

"War was began its path of destruction. A dark power rose from the West and spread across the lands, Amon Lanc was abandoned and a shadow began to fall over the forest as the enemy fled into the fortress. War broke out across the world and my people had no choice but to fight alongside Men to defeat the enemy in The War of the Last Alliance." Again Lostoriel paused, hesitant to tell Bilbo of the One Ring and its place in history.

No, she decided, it would be better to remain in ignorance for now, especially since they would be passing through the southern reaches of the forest. "The enemy was defeated and peace was restored in the world, but not without a cost. My father returned to the GreenWood brother-less and as the King with only a third of the elves that they had marched to war with. And so the world settled into its newfound peace, the WoodLand Realm began to slowly prosper, but there were many battles still to be fought and countless lives that were lost."

Lostoriel's voice faltered, that was how she had lost her mother. In the wasteland of Angmar her people had fought alongside their king and queen and returned only with one half of their king. "We had won, we had won a peace that died after I reached my majority. The shadow of the enemy crawled back into Dol Guldur and a cloud of darkness began to build over the forest of the south.

Now it has fallen into the enemy's hands, orcs, wargs and other fell creatures of the deep roam its parapets. We have tried to defeat it, but it came at too great a cost. Over the centuries we have been pushed back, our villages were destroyed, our water became polluted and the hill of sorcery remains unchecked. My father closed off our kingdom from the rest of the world, they did not see the war we had been waging since we were born."

She turned to face Bilbo, who was pale as a sheet. Lostoriel noticed how kept patting his pocket and scratching his neck, "There are some places in the world so tainted with evil that the very air you breathe is poison, the enchantment upon the forest leads even the strongest of men astray, and we have lost many to its fell grip. I have-"

The muffled sound of footsteps cut her off and she turned to see Fili and Kili running towards them. Sweat drenched their shirts and their hair was in disarray as they stood panting before the elf and hobbit.

Kili leaned on his knees as he spoke, "Los-Lostoriel!"

The elf raised an eyebrow at his disheveled state and Sunflower thought that it was the right time to pounce on the brothers.

"Down girl!" cried Fili as her front paws slammed into his shoulders, he gently pushed her away and nodded at Lostoriel. "Thorin is looking for you."

Kili frowned and leaned his forehead on Fili's shoulder, letting the sweat from his hair drip onto his brother's shirt, "He says…He says it's important apparently."

Fili hastily stepped to the side, causing Kili to stumble over his feet as nothing but air rested below his head. Bilbo jumped to his feet and neatly side stepped Lostoriel as Kili came crashing down into the grass where he had just been seated.

"Though we can't remember what it was for." Fili shrugged, "Anyway, he's in the dining room."

Lostoriel raised both her eyebrows in a gesture of defeat. It seemed that their uncle was not relenting on leaving her in peace, she really did not want to talk about it. However she knew that with Thorin it was best to get things out into the open, for all his stoic and indifferent pretenses he truly did care. Perhaps she should give him the benefit of the doubt.

The elf rose to her feet, dusted off her pants and rolled her eyes amusedly at Kili who had sprawled himself on the grass. He looked like a giant starfish futilely attempting to stop Sunflower from licking every inch of his face. She smirked him, "Well, good luck with that. I'll be off finding out what important something you both forgot."

* * *

She calmly walked into the barn, greeting Balin and Oin who were making their way out into the garden to join their companions in the fading sunlight, a trail of sour smelling pipe smoke floating behind them. Lostoriel couldn't help but scrunch up her nose, no matter how long she travelled with them that would be one smell she would never become accustomed to.

The barn was empty save for the few cows and goats that munched indifferently on the hay. It seemed that Gandalf had returned, his long, pointed grey hat hung on a hook near the door, but the wizard was nowhere to be seen.

She adjusted the thick leather belt that held the woolen coat over her now repaired usual clothing as she silently stepped onto the hay underfoot, hating how straws of it had already made it into her boots. Lostoriel gazed upwards Thorin sitting on his own at the table, intensely studying a large map.

She hopped up the stairs and smoothly slid onto the bench opposite to where Thorin sat. Lostoriel raised an eyebrow as he noticed her, "So you sent your nephews to find me?"

"If this is your idea of a polite greeting, I'm afraid it was incredibly poor. I thought they taught you better Princess." He added the last but to irk her, knowing she hated it whenever anyone brought up the topic of acceptable behavior. His face all serious, but the mischievous gleam gave his grim façade away as he admired her features in the dying sunlight. Thorin reclined against the wall, "Sometimes having nephews to do one's bidding is a blessing."

"Seems it is. And if you're going to princess me I'm going back." said Lostoriel with a, dignified humph. The elf tapped in the map, "Should you not be resting? We have yet a while to go."

Absently she fiddled with her necklace as Thorin rummaged in his coat pocket for something, "I'll be able to rest when those beasts aren't hunting us down."

She tucked the locks that insisted on covering her eyes, behind her ears. Dwalin had done a marvelous job, but she was minutes away from chopping off the lose strands.

"You and me both." said Lostoriel.

They lapsed into silence again, their apologies upon the Carrock had taken him by surprise. He remembered the cold manner in which she had regarded him before they had been swept into Goblin Town and wondered if she chose to or had simply forgotten what had caused that moment of fury or if she was waiting for the opportune moment to bring it up.

Thorin regarded her now, glowing dimly in the fading light. She had offered her sword and he had welcomed her into their ranks as a friend, but he wasn't sure if that had been a wise decision. He knew that he could not go back on his word, it was not in his way of life, no, he had to learn to trust his old friend again.

"I think it suits you," began Thorin as she gazed up at him curiously, he wasn't sure if he wanted to let the words run from his mouth, "Your hair I mean. Makes you look a tad bit Dwarvish."

To his shock a ghost of a smile swept across her face, it reached her sad eyes, crinkling the skin around them in the way he remembered.

Lostoriel raised her eyebrow, the look gesture was slowly beginning to annoy him, "Oh, does it now?"

"Indeed, if you grow a beard and learn to fight with an axe you'd make a fine Dwarrowdame." He lightly jostled her shoulder and slid down to sit beside her. The dwarf threw back his hood and fidgeted with his hair. He stole a glance at her when she didn't respond he wondered if he had perhaps gone a little too far with his banter.

Lostoriel on the other hand laughed and it lightened the weight of guilt that rested on his shoulders. "Thank you, but I don't know about growing a beard. However I'm not objected to learning to wield an axe." She shrugged, pushing back the stray locks of hair that covered her eyes, it was beginning to frustrate her. "It looks rather fun."

They were both stalling. And they knew it. Though why they were was beyond them both at the moment and neither were willing to break the procrastination and discuss what Thorin had asked her there for.

She stared ponderously at Thorin, picturing him as an elf with long, pointed ears and at least seven heads taller than he already was. "You'd make an interesting looking elf."

"You truly think so?" he leaned against the boulder, arching his eyebrow at her remark. Lostoriel blew her hair from her eyes, studied him from top to bottom and frowned.

"On second thought no."

"No?"

She nodded, "You breathe too loudly."

Thorin scoffed, "I do not." And then proceeded to sniff as an icy wind sent shivers up his spine, though he was sure that they were partially caused by the way she beamed at him.

"See what I mean?" The elf pushed her hair back from her face with an annoyed huff, this was why she had always kept it long and away from her face. Lostoriel was glad that they were back to their normal way, when he was younger and she was less weary. However she was brutality aware of the tension that had been building between them since yesterday. It was only a matter of time before either one of them could not take it anymore and exploded over the other.

She had seen the same memory from the cave earlier that morning. She opened her mouth to speak, but froze, the softness of his usually cold eyes caught her off guard. It was a strange expression on him and she hoped she was wrong. Only one other person had looked at her that way. She turned away from him, sweeping a blasted strand of hair away.

The silence hung like a thick blanket of smoke between them, both knowing that they would have to speak, but neither willing to open the conversation. The fire cast an amber glow on Lostoriel's hair, illuminating her lithe form against the darkness, she studied Thorin's stony features. Seeing the uncertainty swim in his eyes as he unfurled the roll of parchment and smoothed it out on the table over the larger map of Mirkwood that Beorn had lent him.

Lostoriel leaned on the edge of the bench, eager to read the smaller map. She carefully scanned the parchment, it mapped out the lands surrounding Erebor, though it was not as detailed as the one beneath it. The Lonely Mountain was crudely etched into one corner of the map with The Running River and Dale to the other top most corner. A minimalist depiction of the trees of GreenWood the Great was sketched into the bottom and above it lay the words, 'the Desolation of Smaug.'

Lostoriel's eyes widened, "What is this?"

Thorin spoke as he pointed to a tiny 'X' marked on one side of the Mountain. "This is how my father and grandfather escaped the mountain that day." He shook his head in disbelief, unsure of how to phrase what he said next. He inhaled and plunged on, "I lost Thror in all the chaos as we tried to escape, rock rained down on us and somehow he disappeared along with my father. We managed to flee Erebor and somehow they met us near the causeway to Dale."

"I thought that there other way out of the mountain." Lostoriel studied the map more closely, her eyes scanning the beautifully depicted red dragon and the angular illustration of The Lonely Mountain that it circled as her other pulled the leaf pendant of her necklace to and fro along its thin chain.

In all her years of travelling to Erebor, she had never heard of nor known of the secret door, then again had the dwarves always been notoriously secretive. It would have been handy to know when she had attacked Smaug.

Finally she met Thorin's eyes and was taken aback by the weariness that had settled around them, his skin was gaunt and grey, as if all the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders. "This is how you plan to get in?"

"Aye," he nodded, "This map was made by my father and it speaks of a hidden door on the Eastern side of the fortress. It can be opened with only this key." he handed the angular , grey key to her, watching as the light bounced off it. "The map gives specific instructions on how it opens. According to Lord Elrond they are "Cirth Ithil." said Thorin with the utmost expectation that she would understand.

The old and wise elf frowned, the lines on her forehead deepened and scrunched up her nose, "What?"

Thorin suppressed a sigh, she looked as clueless as Kili the first day he had been shown how to tie his shoe laces.

"Cirth Ithil." It was his turn to frown, finally he relented with a small sigh, "Moon runes."

Lostoriel flushed pink and sniffed, seeming for all the world that she had merely blundered over her thoughts but knew what he spoke of, "Of course, I was just testing you."

However Thorin knew that she had no clue about what he spoke of and allowed himself a small smile. He thought it was typical of her to act this way, she hated being wrong about anything. He saw the question forming on her face and took a deep sip of water before pointing to the scrawny hand to the left of the map that pointed to the higher levels of the mountain.

"On the first night in Imladris shone the same crescent moon as the night these letters were first inscribed." he rose, bringing the parchment closer to the firelight so that their shoulders brushed. The runes would not be visible he knew, but Thorin was drawn to the scent of lavender and mint that accompanied the elf. He gestured to the empty patch of parchment where the glowing silver letters had once been, "It reads : Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of winter will shine upon the key hole."

As he recited the instructions his voice grew softer till it died down to a whisper and their eyes locked. Lostoriel did not realise it as yet, but her voice cAme as , she blew back the strands of hair that fell into her eyes. "Durin's Day! So that's why you've been rushing us through the wilderness."

He nodded solemnly, not drawing away when he felt her breath pass by his chin, "We do not have much time left."

Lostoriel hastily tucked the strands behind her ears and into his eyes and leaned back, coughing awkwardly as she realised how little distance there was between his lips and her face. She turned the ring on her forefinger and sighed inwardly, picturing Elrohir in her mind, the guilt already rising in her throat.

The dwarf didn't meet her eyes as he sat himself on the opposite bench, not entirely sure what had come over him. "How quickly can you get us through MirkWood?"

"I'm not sure Thorin." she shrugged apologetically, " WoodElves are creatures of habit, so hopefully many of the paths that I know will still be well used."

"But?" he sensed that there was more she wanted to say, but didn't know how.

"But, over time they might have undoubtedly changed, especially if the darkness has returned to the forest. My father," her voice faltered, "he would have had many of the lesser known pathways destroyed to confuse any enemies, that combined with the heavy enchantment that Gandalf mentioned earlier, I don't know. Maybe two weeks, maybe longer."

Thorin's face drooped into disappointment , he had been hoping they'd be plunge through in a week , maybe less if the Woodelves left them be. He watched as she pushed her cropped hair back in frustration.

"Here," said Thorin as stood behind her, "let me."

He carefully pulled one thick band of hair away from her face, split it in two and twisted it together, instructing her to hold it tightly whilst he did the same with the other lock of hair. It was weird, there was no other way to describe it, to see an elf with such short hair and for him to be styling it. Thorin thought he'd never see the day when any elf would allow him to do this. Then again Lostoriel was not just any elf. Gently he gathered the silky locks and twisted them together at the back of her head, holding them in place with one hand as the other searched his inner coat pocket.

Whilst he worked Lostoriel sat nervously thinking about whether she should ask him about the memory now or wait until tomorrow. Lostoriel wasn't sure if she was ready to know what he had to say, to know if Saruman had been correct in saying that the Dwarves were merely using her. She sighed, there would be no right time to ask him and that if she even if she waited any longer that she'd never be ready.

Lostoriel plucked up what courage she had within her as Thorin slid something onto her hair. The silver bead gleamed in the amber light, Thorin traced the thick, angular patterns beneath his fingers as he clipped the bead around the short rope-braid and let it fall into place. It was a spare that his sister had given him many years ago, one of the last relics of Erebor that bore their family crest.

"Lostoriel?" he asked uncertainly as his fingers skillfully twisted the strands together.

"Yes Thorin?"

"We're going to have to speak about it sometime, we cannot go on ignoring this." Thorin paused his efforts, feeling and seeing her sit up straighter and stiffer. " The Company deserves to know what would happen if we should encounter your kin. You deserve to know what occurred in the days following your death. Especially after-"

He did not finish his sentence. Lostoriel abruptly spun to face him, her mouth twisted somewhere between a scowl and a grimace of left hand twitched on the table, her magic pushing and pulling itself away , the white hot pangs of pain shot up her bones and she blanched as it travelled through her shoulder and into her skull. Out of now where a wave of distrust and anger swept through her mind, she had done well to hide it these past few days, to keep her biting tongue in check, but now it reared its ugly head.

"Especially after what Thorin? What more is there to say? What more do you need me to know?" She was on her feet now, her voice quiet but no less intense. Thorin's face was inches away from hers but he could feel waves of anger radiating off her. "I rode to Erebor after the Woodland Realm signed off all treaties except for our ally-ship. I hoped your grandfather would see reason, however all he craved to hear was the clinking of gold. Then the dragon attacked and you left me to die! That is all there ever was and ever will be to this tale Thorin!"

Thorin recoiled in horror, his chest heaving as he pressed himself against the wall. He searched her eyes for any sign of comprehension, any sign of the companionship that had existed between them only moments before. Of all that she had said one thing struck him like a bolt of lightening in his heart. "What do you mean left you to die!?"

The elf answer him, did not spare him a second glance. She squared her shoulders and stalked off down the stairs and out of the barn.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuun! Hello there! If you made it through this ridiculously long chapter whoo hooo!
> 
> Just kidding, I apologise for the length of this chapter ( I'm not sure what happened, one moment it was short and the next Lostoriel and Thorin were arguing...


	18. We Lose Ourselves in the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets worse before it gets better...

Thorin followed her out into the garden. He was not angry, no, he was disappointed and hurt. Hurt that she would think he did not care about whether she lived it died and that she thought that he held her friendship as being worth nothing.

"Lostoriel," he called as he squinted through the light of the setting sun.

"Lostoriel wait! Please!" he called again, making out the blurry image of her body as he jogged to cover the distance between himself and the tree she stood under. Her back was turned towards him, but he could feel the fury radiating off her, he could see it in her set shoulders. Thorin took a deep breath, trying his best to stay calm, "What do you mean by left you to die?"

She spun around and jabbed a finger at him, Saruman's cruel words in Imladris played in her mind, "You damn well know what I mean Thorin Oakenshield. Before the dragon swooped down on me, breathed out a furnace. You made a promise that you would come back! But you didn't!" her voice rose with every word, hot tears welled behind her eyes and she forced herself to push them down. "So, pray tell Thorin, what is so damn important that you just have to tell me?"

"That is not true Lostoriel." he stepped forward to take her hands wanting to explain but she recoiled. Thorin was highly aware of the fact that her hand hovered just above her knife on her belt.

"You know that is a lie! The gold swept up in a wave and you ran! You abandoned me!"

This time he glared up at her, searching for some sign that her words were void. His flared and a fire raged in his eyes. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it was no less intense,

"Durin's beard Lostoriel, I did not abandon you to a death by fire! You told me to do whatever it takes to get my people to safety. Do you not remember? Because I clearly do!"

Thorin's baritone voice cracked and dissipated into something Lostoriel could not comprehend, "You were swallowed by a wave of melting gold Lostoriel! I watched Smaug breath one last wave of fire, I heard your agonized scream and ran. I knew you didn't stand a chance."

"Oh please!" she spat, bristling in indignation. "Stop playing victim Thorin!"

Thorin knew that he had been right in saving his people, he recalled clearly how Lostoriel had earnestly told him to do everything in his power to save his people and himself. He could understand why she felt so resentful, he had promised her that he would come back.

In his mind he was back in Erebor, struggling to keep his grandfather from blindly running into the hurricane of gold and treasure that Smaug kicked up with every swish of his tail. He could see the blurred image Lostoriel through the roaring flames of dragon fire, standing with a Dwarven shield in one hand, her sword in the other, her hair singed, and clothing and skin ripped in half a dozen places.

The same leaden guilt and sense of duty that tore him in half that day haunted him again. The flames were too high, the floor was covered in a lack of steaming hot gold and she was in the middle of it with the dragon bearing down on her. Thorin had known that she would not stand a chance and deep down he held that the elf he had once known would have seen no fault in him saving

"Playing victim!" Thorin was incensed and it poured out through his rising voice, "I am not doing anything like that Lostoriel Thranduiliel! I thought you were dead! Do you honestly think I wanted to leave you there?" he pushed back the sleeve of his right arm, exposing the faded burn marks that stretched from his fingertips, up his forearm and disappeared under his sleeve.

Neither of them noticed the heads peeking out of the barn doors, or the eyes that watched them from afar, having been drawn back to the house by their raised voices. Nor how Fili laid a firm hand on his brother's shoulder, knowing that Kili did not know about their uncle's burns, their mother and Thorin had kept it from him since childhood to protect the sensitive being that was Kili.

Lostoriel inhaled sharply as she took in the scars he had received on her behalf, she was rendered speechless as he spoke softly, "I did try...To run into the flames... If it weren't for Dwalin holding me back I would have come, I would have run into those flames to save you even if it would have been the last thing I do. You and I both know that I do not so easily abandon those I love!"

Then the sun disappeared behind the hills and the moment was lost, "All that was recovered of you from the mountain was your cloak, burnt to a crisp which I took back to your father to ask for his forgiveness for letting you die. For years I could not live with myself for not saving you." He stepped forward closing the small distance between them, "So tell me, are you angry with me for leaving you or with yourself for failing to kill Smaug, because the Lostoriel I once knew would never question anyone's decision in saving their people."

Thorin's chest heaved up and down as he realised the gravity of what he had just said. He couldn't think, couldn't move, he could only watch as emotions he couldn't discern flitted across her face and she gaped at him.

This time it was Lostoriel's turn to step back not barely registering most of what he had said for the fact that he had almost died saving this time she had been infuriated with him from the first moment she had overheard Gandalf reprimand him in Imladris for acting like an exceptionally rude arrogant ass to when he didn't want her travelling with them and then to that night in the cave when she had remembered him leaving her to die. Maybe she had been wrong in blaming him for her death. Lostoriel had not allowed herself to think about whether she blamed herself for all those dwarves dying, for decades she hadn't been able to face the fact that she was never coming back home, that she had her blade embedded in the dragon's scale less side but had been too weak to push it in any further and now of truly not knowing where she fitted in the world bubbled to the surface.

To Thorin and their onlooker's astonishment Lostoriel laughed a dry, humorless laugh, "You're right. I'm not the Lostoriel you remember, in fact I barely remember who she is too Thorin. Perhaps I am wrong in blaming you for my death, perhaps I am wrong in joining you on your quest, because you were right in what you said before we entered the mountains. The world has since changed so drastically and there are things I don't know," she hastily wiped away the tears from her cheeks, "other than seeking revenge on that slug I don't know what I'm even doing here. We're to travel through I home I don't belong in, to a people who have mourned me, to my family who I barely know. You don't understand what it's like, to be in a world that has long since forgotten me and I who I am in it all! Every time I close my eyes all I can see is Smaug bearing down on me."

Unconsciously she rubbed her arm, soothing the dull ache in her bones, in the moment she looked and sounded as old and weary as the mountain's themselves. As if she was just about ready to give up. Her cheeks were gaunt, the rings under her eyes were sullen and dark and all Thorin saw was the years of heartache and brokenness that she had endured.

"I haven't been able to sleep in weeks because of it. The pain... is indescribable and I am so ... tired of carrying it," she whispered, running her hands through her hair, "I'm tired of hearing that voice each time my memory recalls me coming back here and...I don't know why it keeps happening, I don't...What if we fail Thorin? What if we fail to kill him? What then?"

Thorin wanted nothing more than to engulf her in his arms, to reassure her that all would be alright in the end. He watched helplessly as she stood in the dim evening light crying. He hadn't known that she carried such a weight upon her heart, he had noticed that she hardly rested at night, she would stay up at all hours poking at the fire or taking the watch. And now, watching her crack, Thorin wished he could take back every single harsh word he had spoken to her, every action. He shared her fears. Thorin knew that if they failed to kill Smaug they risked the thousands of lives of those who lived around Erebor and the entirety of Middle Earth. It didn't matter anymore who had left who to die, she needed a friend and a friend was what he would be.

"Lostoriel." he said gently, his features reflecting nothing but concern and love as he reached up and took her hands away from her face. But Lostoriel snatched hers from his and stepped back, hastily wiping at her eyes and glaring at him. Thorin's heart sunk to the ground.

"Do not touch me." she practically spat at him, though the anger never met her eyes. Thorin knew that she was not angry with him any longer, but at herself.

Lostoriel's words dripped with spite and she regretted them the moment they left her lips, "I do not want your sympathy Thorin, I do not want your friendship. You say you don't know me anymore, but I can say the same to you. Never mind my words at the Carrock but you are merely a shadow of the dwarf I once knew."

Thorin stiffened, ignoring the tears that slid into his beard and the intense tugging lungs. He felt the of anger shout rising from his belly, but by the time it reached his lips nothing more than a puff of air escaped his lips, "The elves are not the only ones who mourned you, my lady."

The dwarf turned on his heels, only now noticing the dwarves who had been listening from afar thinking that they had been discreet. Wisely none of them uttered a word not daring to mention the way Thorin pressed his hand on his mouth as he briskly walked around the barn and out into the front garden where he would have some peace.

At a cough from Balin they all scattered, returning to what tasks they had been busy with before. The old dwarf was torn between comforting Thorin and Lostoriel, but he had long since learnt that two head-strong people like them would need a good long while to let their anger die down before they would speak.

Lostoriel had allowed herself one last moment of crying before she strolled off into the cold, strong wind, letting the metallic earthy scent of incoming rain settle into her. She didn't want to be alone, but knew it was what she deserved. She hadn't intended to hurt Thorin, she hadn't intended go even consider that she may have been more angry at herself for failing to kill Smaug than foolishly thinking that Thorin for leaving her to die. Lostoriel had been so occupied with the thought abandoning her that she had not considered that maybe, just maybe Thorin had tried to save her.

The clouds closed overhead, and the thunder rumbled in the darkness, Lostoriel squinted at the sky as the first autumn rain decided to pelt the earth. Lostoriel slowed her walk, letting the rain soak into her clothes. She didn't think she deserved any better, things between Thorin and her had not been on the best of terms, but they had been slowly returning to how they once were. And now after they'd taken ten steps forward, she had pushed them back so far that she didn't know if he'd ever forgive her. It hadn't only been that he said that he didn't know who she was anymore, Thorin had said that he loved her.

As she flopped down onto the steps of the stables Kili's words from the archery field in Rivendell echoed in her mind, 'he has no reason to judge us for doing so, our uncle thinks that we don't know what he keeps from us.' Everything was starting to fall into place. Though it did not excuse his arrogant behaviour, she understood his actions and for once had no idea what she was to do about this.

* * *

"Tell me young elfling, do you think it wise to be hiding in a tree in this weather?" Gandalf's voice jolted Lostoriel from her brooding. The tree rumbled beneath her as she hit her head on an overhanging branch and cursed loudly. A whipped out at Gandalf with a thunderous crack and Lostoriel winced as she heard his exclamation of fright, followed by a loud yelp from Sunflower.

"You missed supper and left poor Sunflower lying in the rain waiting for you!" the wizard squinted up into the rain as he made out the lithe form of the elf concealed in the unravelling cocoon that the tree had woven around her. The Company and Beorn had given the elf and their leader a wide berth for most of the evening, it hadn't taken Gandalf long to discover what had transpired between Lostoriel and Thorin. In fact, Bofur, who was never one to not know the latest gossip wherever he went, had been the first to tell him. Bilbo had been second in wanting to comfort his friend, but Gandalf had advised against it knowing that it would be better if she had someone familiar to speak with.

Lostoriel gingerly rubbed at the pebble sized lump that had risen and peaked between the branches. There in the dim, amber light of the lanterns that dotted Beorn's garden was a soaked and thoroughly miserable looking Gandalf standing in a halo of silver light that emanated from his staff. Beside stood an equally as soaked and matted Sunflower. The wolf whined mournfully, guiltily reminding Lostoriel of an abandoned puppy. Lostoriel hastily reddened and turned her eyes away from Gandalf, hating how he frowned up at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows. She had been a recipient of that glare in the past, however it made it no less easy to stand, or hide away from the wizard, knowing that his hard eyes would follow her wherever she went.

"Well, are you going to leave me standing here in this deluge being soaked to the centre of my old bones, or are you going to come down? And if that's not reason enough, there's a plate of hot food awaiting you and," he added with relish, knowing that the only reason she'd willingly remove herself from the Oaktree was food, "Bilbo has just helped Beorn bake a batch of honey-glazed cinnamon rolls."

The elf had intended to stubbornly spend the night in the tree that she had yet again awoken. She had to stop herself from cracking open, analysing and then re-analysing every word that had passed between Thorin and her during their fight. However, now that Gandalf mentioned the fresh, warm cinnamon rolls her stomach growled painfully and she was won over. Without a moment's hesitation the tree unfurled a long, thick branch and the elf lightly hopped off it, landing in the muddy ground with a loud squelch.

"Elflings never change." She heard Gandalf mutter under his breath, the wizard was now thoroughly miffed at having to had firstly search for her in the pouring rain that soaked right through his thick robes and down into his socks. The wizard spun around and began to make his way back to the warmth of Beorn's house, now more than a little disgruntled at the icy, stiffness of his wet feet in his drenched shoes. Gandalf huffed, next time he was going to leave her in the tree and seek out a fire for himself first.

Sunflower pounced on her, the wolf's entire body rumbled as she whined and licked Lostoriel's hands that quickly became wet and dirty from the mud, grim that clung to the wolf's fur. The wolf whined again, this time stretching up to try and lick Lostoriel's chin to ensure that her elven companion was uninjured.

"I'm alright girl, I think." Lostoriel scratched Sunflower behind both her ears and smiled at the creature that clung to her legs, "Come on, let's go before Gandalf has both our heads."

When the elf pushed open the kitchen door her senses were assaulted with a wave of warmth and the savoury scent of roasted chicken and vegetables from the plate of food that sat beside a grumpy looking Gandalf. Lostoriel, still standing in the doorway, removed her muddy boots and left them beside the sink. Ignoring the fact that she was sopping wet she sat herself down at the high- backed kitchen chair and dug into the food with relish. Relishing in every forkful of succulent chicken and juicy bite of aromatic carrots, butternut and sip of the unfortunately warm fruit juice.

Gandalf watched in amazement as she cleaned off the last bit of chicken from her plate and finished the last dregs of fruit juice in less than twenty minutes. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly she inhaled her food, whatever courtly etiquette she had learnt as a child had clearly worn off. Then again, thought Gandalf as he released a small plume of smoke, the rules and expectations of being royalty only applied to her when she chose it would. Lostoriel noticed him watching her and became rudely aware of the food that had escaped onto the corner of her mouth. She hastily wiped it away, hoping that that Gandalf hadn't noticed.

"What is it Mithrandir?" she asked when his frown deepened, "Do I have something on my face?"

Gandalf nearly choked on his mouthful of smoke, he coughed out a plume of blue pipe-smoke as he attempted to cover his observations, "What no, there's… certainly…nothing on your face! What gave you that idea?" Then he gave himself away by looking meaningfully at her spotless plate.

The elf pursed her lips and poured herself another glass of wine from the silver pitcher between them. She was enjoying the various degrees of fear, embarrassment and regret that flitted across Gandalf's wrinkled face, turning his cheeks and ears a rosy shade of red that darkened with every moment. Her frown deepened and if it was possible her eyebrow rose even further up her forehead.

She pulled her plate towards her and then stared Gandalf down, looking like a child caught in the act of misbehaving, "Don't judge me Mithrandir, I grew up with Legolas, Thalion and Renieth. Or a pack of stomach- less bears if ever there was such a thing. It was eat or starve and one learnt to fill oneself before any of them had the chance to stick their paws in one's food."

"If it is as you say, though I'm sure Beorn would agree that you share the same characteristics as a young bear when you eat, Princess."

It was true, Lostoriel could not deny it. Though travelling with thirteen dwarves and a hobbit who usually ate seven meals a day had done nothing to help improve her situation. There had been more than one occasion when the idea of throwing Bilbo off a cliff made her fingers itch whilst he complained endlessly about his aching belly. Just as she thought of them a loud roar of laughter erupted from the other side of the door.

"Sounds like they're having quite the time over there."

Gandalf cocked a grey eyebrow and smiled out the corner of his mouth, "I believe that Beorn is rethinking his first assumptions about the Dwarves, the cask of ale they've already finished has no doubt played a significant role in his loosened tongue." He waved aside the thought and set his pipe down, whatever mirth danced in his demeanor dissipated into the sullen atmosphere.

"Now about what happened this afternoon-"

"I don't want to talk about it Gandalf." Said Lostoriel with a deep sigh, leaning back in her chair and staring at the roof.

Gandalf's expression softened and he reached for her hand, covering it with his own. Lostoriel didn't take her hand away, however awful she felt she was grateful for Gandalf's presence. In her long years the old wizard had become more than just a wandering acquaintance who came and went as he pleased, no, Mithrandir had become a grandfather or more wise uncle-like figure in her eyes. She saw where this was going before he got there.

"Lostoriel, I'm not asking you to speak of what you and Thorin…Discussed… That is entirely between you both. I know that you had no desire to speak of your memories, but since it has burdened you to the point where you can no longer sleep it would do you well to talk about this Lostoriel." He looked at her earnestly, "You're of no use to anyone including yourself travelling through the deepest parts of the wilderness half-conscious because you haven't slept. I only say this because I worry for you and want to see you come from this quest unscathed."

She sat there looking anywhere but at Gandalf for a long while, weighing the pros and cons of telling him about what she had been seeing. Until finally she relented, if there was anyone who could tell her what was happening in her head it was Gandalf. And he was a far cry from the dreary, shifty nature of Saruman. Lostoriel took a long sip of the fresh juice and sighed, knowing that speaking about it would help.

"Alright." The elf crossed her arms and shifted into a more comfortable position before plunging into the depths of her ordeal.

* * *

The week following Lostoriel and Thorin's spat had been tense and uncomfortable for the entire Company, including Beorn. The Dwarves had been at a loss on how to approach either of them on the subject, or how to approach them in general if they were being honest. Thorin had been less talkative and more brooding than usual, he threw himself into assisting the rest of the Company in making preparations for the next leg of their journey and barely allowed himself to so much as say anything beyond a 'good morning' to Lostoriel.

His hesitance radiated off him, along with the sour mood he had been in for the first few days. All except Dwalin and his nephews had given him a wide berth, they had never seen Thorin so vulnerable, nor had they seen him in such a state of fury. As much as they wanted to help him, they knew that the quarrel was between him and the elf and that they had no business interfering in the issues of their king.

Lostoriel on the other hand had opted to act as if nothing had happened. At least that was what she hoped to do. Her somber demeanor that slipped through the façade of 'normalcy' did nothing to ensure the Dwarves or Bilbo that she was alright. Most of them had avoided her for an entire day after seeing her decimate one of Beorn's target boards and then proceed to sharpen her sword until it gleamed with the sharpness of a bear's claw.

Bilbo and Gandalf seemed to be the only two who could break through her numbness and away from helping Beorn in the garden. She was up before dawn on most days, though they were all sure that she still hardly slept. The dark rings around her eyes and the sallowness of her skin told them as much. But still she chose not to rest, her confessions to Thorin and his to her weighed heavily on her heart and she needed space to process everything.

Though her state of withdrawal from them ended abruptly when Dori and Bilbo had burst into her room one afternoon armored with a sewing kit and a plate full of freshly baked ginger snaps, which according to Gandalf had an unusual calming effect on Lostoriel. And to their luck it had worked, until Lostoriel had managed to prick herself on the straight pins that Dori had skillfully stuck into the over-sized clothing that Lostoriel had borrowed.

That had unfortunately diffused into Lostoriel storming off into the bathroom to change back into her travelling clothing and Dori raising an unimpressed eyebrow and loudly expressing his frustration and wonder at how the Elven seamstresses who had to deal with the princess survived their encounters. Which is how Lostoriel ended up spending hours sparring with Fili and Kili, until she decided to go and help the dwarf mend their clothes for the rest of their journey.

It was now the day before they were due to leave and the harsh clanging of metal against metal rang throughout the gardens. The hard task of preparing arrows, food and packing their luggage for the next day was complete and today the company decided was perfect for lounging around the garden, smoking their pipes and watching Bilbo attempt to disarm Lostoriel.

The Hobbit and Elf had spent countless hours in the garden with their swords after most of the Company, Gandalf included, decided that Bilbo needed a little, no, a lot more practice in his sword skills if they were to journey across into the Wilderland under such perilous conditions.

The wizard and Beorn had impressed them with the need for constant vigilance as they traveled through the open plains and forest. Fili, Kili and Dwalin, a surprise to them all, had volunteered to help train the hobbit, the latter mainly wanting to see if their burglar would be able to withstand the stroke of his mighty axes.

Bilbo rushed at Lostoriel, thrusting upwards with his sword and stepping into the stroke, almost impaling her in the chest. The elf deflected his sword with ease as she parried the blow and brought her arm in a wide circle to jab him in his side with the long knife that Fili had miraculously produced out of some hidden pocket some days earlier. The hobbit jumped back, thinking he had warded the elf off only to be pushed backwards again as she stepped into her next blow and hit him on the wrist with the blunt side of her sword.

"Ow!" he cried, dropping his sword and nursing his injured wrist. Bilbo scowled at her. They had been practicing for over an hour and he was beginning to tire, "What did you do that for?"

"Why weren't you paying attention?" Lostoriel stood with her fists on her hips and raised an eyebrow at him.

"I was very well-paying attention thank you very much!"

Bilbo had progressing, at the pace of an old horse attempting to climb uphill whilst being burdened with luggage, but it was progress none the less.

"If I were an orc you would be both hand-less and dead," the elf scolded him, knowing that he would need to just be aware of his surroundings. However, she also knew that it took hours and hours of practice to do so and softened her expression.

"She's not wrong laddie." Agreed Beorn with a solemn nod from where he leaned against a fence post that formed part of the horse pen. Beside him, Sunflower enthusiastically barked her agreement, eyed out the Hobbit and how close his sword was to the elf and hen continued her circuit through the groups of Dwarves.

Several murmurs of assent rose from the Dwarves who had not dozed off in the warm autumn sun. They had been watching him fight their elf and their three best warriors over the past week and though Bilbo showed vast amounts of courage in his fighting, they could not help but wonder if he'd actually survive in the wild.

"Ten coins says he'll miss the next stroke." mumbled Dwalin to Nori, neatly side-stepping Sunflower. He had no fondness for the beast, and it seemed that Sunflower felt the same way when she eyed him out, saw him as a boring figure without any food and kept on running. Dwalin watched until the wolf was near Kili and then turned his attention back to the training session. The fierce warrior had become fond of their burglar, his homely nature was a calming presence for the old dwarf, however his fighting skills. Well that was something only time would tell. Nori shook his head and grimaced, "Twenty says he stays on his feet this time round."

Lostoriel overheard their conversation and flashed a glare at the pair as she went to pick Bilbo's from the ground and handed it back to him. Why the Dwarves thought so little of Bilbo was something she barely understood. They were all fighters and should have known that no one became a master swordsman in under a week. It took hard work and time to build such skills, which is why they had decided to stick to the very basics of swordplay.

As he took the blade from her hand, Bilbo noticed that what was a heavy sword for him sat in her rough hands as nothing more than a long knife. His stomach twisted painfully and suddenly Bilbo knew why the Dwarves had been so concerned about his safety and prowess in battle.

Fili stepped into the wide circle, his broadsword catching the light as he spun it in one hand, "You've got to be aware of your surroundings in a fight. Ask yourself where you are and if there's anything you can use to defend yourself. Sometimes it could be the difference between life and death." He waited for comprehension to flash in Bilbo's eyes before he continued, "Alright, now let's go over the steps from Twainday. One, three, four!"

Bilbo gritted his teeth and lunged at Fili, thrusting his sword to the left, then right and then bringing it in an overhead stroke that would have stabbed Fili in the chest. Fili anticipated the move and countered it with a simple stroke to the left which sent Bilbo stumbling backwards. But the Hobbit was nimble on his feet and managed to strike another two blows at Fili, gaining more confident each time Fili called the stroke.

"Quit flappin' ye' arms like that! You look like a hatchling learning how to fly!" Called Gloin from his perch upon the grass. Again, Sunflower barked her agreement and Bilbo twisted back to flash them an annoyed glare that didn't stop Gloin from laughing so hard that he snorted. Bilbo disliked the brisk, almost cold way that the Company treated him when it came his vigorous lessons. Although, he thought as he parried a stroke aimed at his stomach, for all their bluntness at least the Dwarves were honest with him. Brutally, painfully honest. But honest none the less. Unconsciously, Bilbo rolled his shoulders back and mimicked Fili's open, slightly crouched stance as they began fighting again.

As the pair fought their way around the open space, Lostoriel thought back to her conversation with Gandalf from the day of her fight with Thorin. Gandalf had sat and listened as she shared what vivid memories of her battle with Smaug, then of the waterfalls she had seen open under her feet in RivenDell and then upon the Carrock. By the time she had told him about the soft, familiar voice that sang the lullaby she had been taught as a child, the fire under the stove had burned down to a smolder and Gandalf seemed every bit as confused as she was.

"Surely Lady Galadriel knew of this? Lostoriel? Goodness me," Gandalf had grumbled thoroughly unimpressed with the fact that she had missed half of what he had said, "You would think I was speaking to the walls themselves!"

Lostoriel knocked over her glass at Gandalf's exclamation. The glass rotated on its bottom, threatening to spill the remainders of the juice onto the clean table. The elf yelped as she caught it just as it tipped over and sloshed all over her hand, "OH sorry Gandalf," she wiped the spilt liquid with the kitchen towel, apologising the entire time. "Forgive me Mithrandir, I got lost in my thoughts."

Bilbo's sword fell to the ground with an echoing clang and several sacks of gold were discreetly exchanged between the dwarves as Fili patted Bilbo on the shoulder and assured him that given enough time they would make an excellent warrior out of him. The hobbit thanked him and then proceeded to sink gratefully to the ground, practically inhaling the large glass of water that Kili brought to him.

The Hobbit felt like giving up for the day, or maybe forever. He was surrounded by thirteen born and bred terrifying warrior dwarves, a wizard and an elf, both of whom were trained with a sword before his grandmother had been a thought in her mother's mind. Surely, he would be safe. They would never let him die.

It was again Lostoriel's turn to train Bilbo. She smiled warmly at him, unsheathing her sword and long-knife. "Remember, always have poise when you're fighting Bilbo," the elf straightened into a tall, proud stance: her feet were a shoulder's length apart, her shoulders rolled back, her sword hung at an acute angle at her side, almost like how a ballerina would hold out a curved arm and her other arm, the one with the knife pressed against the forearm, hung just above her midriff. "Think of yourself as a dancer."

Bilbo corrected his slouched stance, "Like this?"

Seeing her stand like that Bilbo had to admit that he never saw any correlation between dancing and fighting, but now he saw it clear as daylight. The hobbit straightened himself out and tried his best to proudly jut his chin out as she did. For all Lostoriel's apparent grace and poise, Bilbo couldn't help but feel that he was about to fight a vicious bear.

"Exactly. Now, one!" she called and in one fluid motion brought her sword up from her side, cut the air between them and managed to tap his shoulder. Bilbo did not let panic settle into his mind, calmly he raised his sword at parried her blade where the blade met the hilt. A resounding clang rang through the garden and Lostoriel nodded approvingly.

"Good now position two!" This time it was Bilbo's turn to attack. He stepped into the stroke, remembering to step a little to the left as he did so to get into the shorter range of Lostoriel's knife. He thrust he blade forward, but never got close to Lostoriel's stomach when the elf parried his blade and managed to flick her knife towards his exposed side.

As they fell into their familiar pattern Lostoriel's thoughts strayed back to her conversation with Gandalf. The wizard had no other explanation for her sudden visions other than the fact that it could just be her memories of her last moments, waking up in the small English town and then returning to Middle Earth. To them both it seemed like the only logical explanation.

Bilbo parried her undercut stroke with a surprising amount of ease, so Lostoriel upped the stakes by attacking him with a wide over-head strike and brought her knife soaring towards his chest.

"Remember to get into her space Bilbo! You're small use it to your advantage!" she heard Fili call from somewhere behind her. As her sword lightly tapped Bilbo's curly hair, she quickly changed the target of her knife and with one flick at the crosspiece of his sword, sent it flying out of his hands.

"You can do this Bilbo." her tone broke no argument. She believed in her newfound friend's ability. Bilbo was much more stronger and courageous than he gave himself credit for, he had saved her life more than once and when he was in the heat of a fight, she knew that he would hold his own. As the Hobbit retrieved his sword her thoughts floated aimlessly in her mind. Gandalf had no logical explanation for the familiar, female voice nor the lullaby that echoed in her memory as it did upon the Carrock. It was an ancient song, from her mother's childhood when the Greenwood was still young.

Bilbo huffed, he was hungry, tired and ready to sleep where he stood. He wasted no time bothering to wait for Lostoriel to take her stance. Instead he decided to flash his sword in a series of quick strokes. Lostoriel parried each one of his uppercuts, downstrokes, undercuts and lunges with the unnatural speed and agility that came with fighting for thousands of years. Again, Lostoriel disarmed Bilbo by twisting her blade near the crosspiece and flinging Bilbo's sword into the air where it landed a bit too close to Dwain's feet and to all their delight, Dwalin jumped in fright.

"What ye'r doing!" he yelled and Lostoriel couldn't help but laugh at his very angry, very red face.

Bilbo stood there holding his sides and panting heavily, his white shirt was turned clear in certain parts because of the sheer amount of sweat pouring out of him. He grimaced as Dori rushed up to him, fanning him down and then handing him a flask of water. Bilbo turned to Lostoriel, still swallowing a mouthful of the cool water, "Can we... Can we just take five minutes? Please?"

Lostoriel studied the exhausted, sweating hobbit and relented, "Of course. You're doing great Bilbo." then seeing the way he rubbed his shoulders she wondered if she hadn't been pushing him too hard.

"I'm okay," he caught her worried stare, "Don't worry. Just not used to holding my sword up for so long."

Whilst Bilbo recovered Lostoriel took the opportunity to take a short rest. She moved into the shade of a nearby fruit tree and sank to the ground, uncorking the leather water skin and downing its cool contents. The cool water trickled down her chin and onto her chest, where she was sure that there were pools of sweat beneath her dark blue shirt. She was thankful that she had decided to use this and not her usual travelling gear, for her bra was already soaked with sweat and she didn't even want to think of the catastrophe that awaited her when she removed her socks. More water split down her chin and gathered upon her necklace. Lostoriel wiped it away and felt the leaf pendant all the heavier on her chest.

Bilbo moved back onto the flattened grass, a wry grin spread onto his face, "You going to nap all day?"

Clearly, he was more than a little ready for the next half of their regiment, "Thought you'd decided to quit."

"And miss the opportunity to show you what a Baggins is truly made out of? I think not."

He was acting incredibly smug and it disconcerted Lostoriel to levels she could not begin to describe. The elf rolled up her sleeves and came to join him, the weight of her necklace was prominent, and she couldn't shake off her awareness of it. Bilbo began the attack by thrusting his blade upwards, stepping into the stroke with all his strength, Lostoriel countered it by simply swaying to the side and sent Bilbo stumbling forward.

Lady Galadriel had handed her the necklace that she had so freely rejected after Lostoriel had remembered how she had left earth and that she had heard this "her." Gandalf had mentioned that it had once belonged to her grandmother, though what legend he knew of it was shrouded in old wife's tales and doubt. When Lostoriel had mentioned this female voice, Gandalf had speculated that perhaps the necklace and the voice had nothing to do with each other. But after she had mentioned it was her mother who had sung that lullaby, that it seemed to led her in the direction of the Greenwood and that Lady Galadriel had said that Lostoriel must follow it, Gandalf had sat in silence for what seemed like hours whilst he processed all she had told him.

Lostoriel had not time to finish her thoughts when Bilbo swept his sword through the air with a hiss and Lostoriel spun on her heels, she lifted her sword into the air and parried his blade, bringing it down in an arch and sweeping it into the ground. But Bilbo was faster. The hobbit shouted through gritted teeth and managed to push Lostoriel's sword up and over her head with his blade. The elf brought her knife sweeping to the side and Bilbo jolted away.

Gandalf, her ever wise and trusting mentor thought that it could be her mother. Or even just a memory of her-

Bilbo changed direction of his sword stroke and moved in a series of flashing movements. His sword flickered this way and that as he darted from side to side and stepped into Lostoriel's guard, hitting her sword with such force that her blade twisted painfully in her hand and fell to the ground. In a split-second Bilbo had his blade hovering just above her throat. The garden was silent for a moment. Without warning their onlookers burst into cheers, some of them reluctantly parting ways with their money and others shouting their congratulations at Bilbo.

Lostoriel swore, her surprise evident by her wide eyes, "How on earth did you do that?"

Looking back on that day Lostoriel would swear that she saw Bilbo's entire face light up with smug mirth. The hobbit smirked, "You weren't paying attention."

Not far behind her Fili and Kili stood watching the exchange with expressions in the middle of horror and amusement. The youngest of the brothers caught Bilbo's eyes and exaggeratedly shook his head, mouthing the word, "no," as he did so, and mimicking being stabbed by a sword. Fili noticed what Kili saw as a mere jest and immediately suppressed a snort of amusement, opting to elbow Kili in the ribs as he knew that Bilbo probably felt just as terrified as he did when he had his first lessons in swordsmanship. As Kili glared at him, Fili briefly wondered when his little brother would grow up, however he then watched amusedly as Bilbo blanched to a concerning shade of green and could not help but flash his eyebrows at Kili.

Soon night drew itself upon the world. The inky sky glittered with the silver light of the heavens, clouds scudded across the sky breaking the light of the moon and shrouding the land in patches of silver and grey.

Under the stars lay Fili, Kili and Ori. Autumn had not yet stolen the warmth from the air and the brothers wanted to spend their last night in Beorn's lodgings peacefully. With no reminder that tomorrow they'd be travelling into lands they had never seen with unknown dangers around every turn. Their youngest companion had quickly fallen off to sleep. Ori was not accustomed to the hard life of travel. It had only been in recent years when he had been allowed to go on journeys to the towns around Ered Luin and having been in Beorn's home reminded him of the one he left behind.

The sleeping dwarf snorted in his sleep and the brothers turned to each other, Fili raising both his eyebrows and Kili barely suppressing his laughter.

"Just like Dori, isn't he?" said Fili, grinning .

"More like the forges when they've started their work. This is nothing, did you hear him on the first night we got here?"

"Oh, I certainly did," came an amused voice from the shadows. They both jumped and squinted into the darkness at Lostoriel, "it was like a lawnmower blaring in my ears."

Fili let himself fall back onto the blanket they'd been lying on, "Must you always move like a ghost?"

"Must you always breathe so loudly?"

Kili followed suit as Lostoriel joined them, crossing her arms behind her head and staring, wide-eyed at the sky. It had taken her over an hour to pry the wolf away from her side. Lostoriel could sense that Sunflower didn't want her to leave. And so the wolf had made it her duty to stick her nose into the Company's bags and cause as much chaos as she could. Thankfully Beorn had managed to distract the wolf with the leftovers from supper and giving Lostoriel a moment of peace.

The trio slipped into companionable silence. Their imaginations worlds away from their heads as the moon reached its zenith. The melody of an old Dwarven drinking song wafted on the wind from Beorn's house and mixed with the sounds of the night. And transported Fili and Kili back to nights spent around the fire with their friends at home, singing and playing their fiddles until the dawn cracked over the horizon. And took Lostoriel back to happier days in her youth when the world was not so dark.

"What do you think is up there?" whispered Kili. His eyes were full of starlight, "Beyond the coldness of the stars and the watchful eyes of the moon?"

Fili frowned, considering his answer, "Maybe another world, maybe you'd just slip right off the smooth glass of the sky and fall into oblivion. Aven believes that there are more stars beyond what we can see that we are watched by those who have gone before us. But I do not think they care, if they did then much would be different."

The coolness in Fili's voice caught Lostoriel off guard. Dwarves she knew were much more fascinated with the jewels that lay under the earth above it. But the Eldar valued starlight beyond even the brightest of gems. Her time spent on earth had taught her many things about what lay beyond the sky. Of the galaxy that was home to the tiny life sustaining planet. And the great ball of gas that was the sun and of the trillions of other galaxies that filled the universe beyond even the greatest astronomer's comprehension. She had taken that as fact, however, being here in Middle Earth reminded her of what she had grown up believing. Less tangible than the facts of science, but so real that if she closed her eyes, she could feel it.

"I believe that there is so much more that we do not yet have the means of understanding out there. Every star is a gift to light the way home, the Eldar have held it scared beyond all else. When I was a child we would run off and out of the forest where the silver light seemed to stretch endlessly. It is believed that they hold the memory of this world, of the good and bad, of wars and love and of those who have gone before us."

She had never fully believed that the Valar were the ones watching and keeping guard over middle earth. Frankly, Lostoriel held fast to the belief that if they cared then they would have done something about the evil that plagued the land. Maybe then she would have met death and not a second life. as she stared up at the stars, she couldn't help but feel the warm presence of her mother. watching her, making sure nothing bad would happen.

Kili turned to face her and was nearly startled out of his skin when he noticed how old Lostoriel looked as the night passed around them. The wistful almost childlike gleam in her eyes and the solemn lines on her face was akin to the same expression that Balin had whenever he spoke about his childhood. He had not realised how young he must seem to her until now. He had never fully held onto the rift between the dwarves and the elves, perhaps he was still too young to grasp onto the long-lost reason their people hated each other. Kili now had the urge to bombard her with the endless questions that popped into his head. There was so much he now wanted to know. If all elves were like Lostoriel and those whom they had met in RivenDell, then perhaps there was hope.

The young archer rolled onto his back, "Lostoriel?"

She hummed in reply, having felt his curiosity radiating off him.

"What's it like? Living forever?"

Lostoriel considered his question for a moment, then raised her brow at him, "What's it like to not?"

"I haven't actually considered that before." said Kili with such honesty that Lostoriel realised how young he truly was. Kili lay there shuffling through his thoughts for a long time

"What's the point in considering it anyway?" Muttered Fili dejectedly, crossing his arms across his chest, "The stars are just that. Stars. We're on our own and we're all doomed to die one day. There's no point believing that it's anything more than what it is."

"What's gotten into you?" Kili nudged his brother with his knee.

This time Lostoriel leaned on her elbow, watching as the dwarf prince huffed disheartened and glared at the sky. Judging by the way he constantly fiddled with the thick leather band around his wrist she knew that his anger was not aimed at her. Fili was homesick, his mother had given him that bracelet before he could leave for the Shire as a promise that he would return.

Lostoriel smiled weakly, hoping that he would speak to them, "You alright Fili?"

Fili sighed with the weight that Lostoriel knew only too well, "Yeah...I think so. I'm just..."

Kili stole a worried glance at his older brother. It was not often that Fili lashed out at anyone, Kili was perhaps the exception to that rule, mainly because he was exceptionally skilled at annoying his brother. But Fili was the more level-headed of the two and Kili had been noticing that he was

"Thinking about home and my mother and- Kili can you not stick your scrawny legs into my side?" hissed Fili, trying to push himself away from Kili's legs as his younger brother attempted to stick his un-booted foot under his back and the other near his mouth. The tender moment died and all Lostoriel sighed, shuffled to the side and withheld her laughter as the brothers managed to egg each other on, yet again.

"Dammit Fi! You smacked me on the nose you-"

A cry of pain was emitted by both the Dwarven brothers as a scowling, disheveled Ori sat himself on Kili's stomach and rested his feet a bit too close to Fili's nose for the prince's liking.

"Mahal! Ori can you get off please?" wheezed Kili while Fili gagged as Ori's slightly damp sock came into contact with his cheek. "Ori, I love you like a younger brother, maybe even more than Kili, but if you don't take your foot away from my face I will chop it off and feed it to the wolf."

Fili the crown prince to the throne of Erebor's threat had no effect on the younger dwarf who resolutely sat on them until they stopped squabbling and shouting at him. Lostoriel had to hand it to Ori, he knew how to pacify them in the ways that she approved off. Ori had grown up with Nori for an older brother, they had been relatively peaceful and civil around each other, but when they were dwarflings it was not uncommon for Nori to be found with a smaller Ori clinging onto his back trying to pin him to the ground so that he could sit on him for hiding away whatever book his nose was buried in.

As Lostoriel watched the three of them reminded her of the days of being around Legolas and Thalion and how she was always five minutes away from smacking either of them.

"Are you two done bickering like a pair of inconsiderate dwarflings whilst some of us," he said pointedly, "are trying to rest?"

Kili coughed and moaned in pain as Ori's weight crushed his insides, "Ye...Yes we...Are Ori! Now please... please please get off my stomach or else I fear my supper might make an appearance."

That was enough to get the sleepy and extremely disgruntled scribe off his stomach and release Fili's nose from its onslaught. Ori had had a bath that morning, but he spent most of the afternoon walking around the garden and the result was not pleasant. "Good. Next time you two wake me up I'll write you falling off a cliff!"

With that Ori sleepily trudged off into the warmth of the barn, leaving the two dwarves and the elf staring at each other with the utmost surprise. Ori, soft-spoken, quiet, kind Ori never ever raised his voice at anyone. Especially not Fili and Kili, well, unless they were annoying him.

"Remind me that it's Ori who we need to be weary of when we're in the forest." said Fili with the faintest trace of awed fear in his voice.

"I vote that we keep him well rested for the duration of our journey." Lostoriel couldn't help but laugh as Kili tried his best to look serious, but soon joined her. It felt good to laugh. As her shoulders shook Lostoriel felt some of the weight of the week disappear and a lightness overpower her senses. She loved being in Fili, Kili and Ori's company. After all, if the calculations were done correctly then she wouldn't be that much older than them. Despite being old in their eyes, she was into adulthood by elven standards. Because of their age, they were easier to be around, it was as if they had known each other for centuries. And Lostoriel loved it.

"I second the motion."

* * *

Lostoriel sunk into the mattress with a grateful sigh, it would be a long time until she got to sleep in a bed again. It a long time until she felt any peace again. Her vicious words to Thorin still played on her mind. She hadn't meant to hurt him, nor had she wanted to push him away. Lostoriel had intended to do quite the opposite. She needed a friend, someone that she could rely on to remind her of who she once was.

Her time on Earth had changed her, or perhaps she had allowed it to change her. Lostoriel did not know which it was. She was forced to adapt to a world that changed so drastically within a matter of decades. She had no choice but to become unknown. Never settling in one place for too long. For the humans would grow suspicious of her young looks after a few decades. Never belonging anywhere except with the small group of fighters she had met. She was an unsung protector, a nobody. But now on the cusp of walking into a land where her family who had mourned for her awaited.

One where Smaug rested upon her shoulders like the weight of the world on the shoulders of Atlas. She needed a reminder, a small one. The fire of revenge raged within her and she was afraid that it would consume her.

The elf pulled the covers over her head so that only her face looked out into the dim firelight. These thoughts could wait until the morning. Lostoriel sighed again. She let her body relax and listened to the gentle sounds of the night.

Then out of the hushed night came a low hum. So low that it was barely imperceptible to her ears until it grew louder and joined by a lighter voice. And then another and another until it filled the entire house. She had heard the Dwarves sing on several occasions during their travels, but this felt...Different.

Lostoriel uncovered her head and closed her eyes. Becoming immersed in the song that the Dwarves began to sing.

"Far over the misty mountains cold, to dungeons deep and caverns old..." It was Thorin singing, his rich baritone voice was unmistakable. When she had stayed in Erebor for official visits sometimes, he and her would sneak out the mountain and onto one of the secret paths leading to the peak of the kingdom. There the sky would be clear, and the wind would carry his voice far below.

She had not heard him sing for a long time. Lostoriel was lost in a world that existed only in her memories. The harmonies of the song seemed to reach into her very soul and release a wave of tears behind her eyes as they sang of the day Smaug attacked.

For once hearing him sing brought her no joy. Thorin had been quieter than usual. He barely ate. And more than once she caught him staring out to the East where the mountains stretched out beyond the horizon. He was rightfully anxious, however Lostoriel grew worried that Thorin would only withdraw into himself and that his mind would grow dark and paranoid as they drew closer to The Mountain. She had witnessed the terrifying change in King Thror and hoped beyond hope that Thorin would not succumb to the same fate. What will you do when his mind grows dark and he forgets you?

Lostoriel pushed the seeds of doubt that Saruman had placed in her mind. Thorin had proved himself to be different from his father and grandfather many years ago. She that he would stay true to that and that she would too. She knew that she couldn't take her words back,

The elf leaned against the wooden wall and let herself be. Leaving her cheeks wet and her skin cold as they sang of the bells ringing out in the dale. Of the men who watched as their houses and families were laid low by the dragon's ire. It was a terrible and mesmerizing song. They sang of the great rift between the ancient kings of their people. Of the gems of the Elven Lord and Ancient king. And of gems that meshed the light of the sun and moon that drove a deeper rift between their people. And as they sang, she remembered.

She saw it again. The mountain burning from the inside. The dragon smashing his way through. Pillars crashing to the ground, shattering the granite floors as the bells cried out in the wind above the crackling of the fire and the screams of hundreds of terrified Dwarves fleeing the kingdom.

Her body ached with the white-hot pain that seemed to dry the pools of tears within her chest. Thorin sang with such conviction that all anger she felt towards him dissipated and something flickered on within her. A fire doused since their meeting with Azog. The fires of revenge had been lit.

She could feel it in her bones. She had watched their kingdom flourish, she had seen the gems and jewelry wrought from the treasures within Erebor, she had witnessed the might of the dwarves and realized that she would see those days return. But first she wanted to see Smaug suffer, to see him beg for mercy in the end.

That night as she fell asleep with the lament ringing in her ears, Lostoriel dreamed of the days before Smaug. Of walking in emerald green halls where every passage was lit golden light and song. Of forests of pure green and sunlight falling through the early morning fog and fire burning on the mountainside.


	19. Forgotten Elflings of the Forest

"Here Balin, I think this is the last of it." Lostoriel handed the carefully wrapped basket of twice-baked cakes onto the steadily growing pile of bags on Balin's chestnut pony.

Balin grabbed one of the loose ends of rope that currently held his luggage together and handed the other to Lostoriel, who immediately began to tie it to the saddle.

"Thank you, lass." He said as he finished off the complex series of knots and adjusted the weight of the bags on his laden pony. "Have you packed everything you need? Also, have you eaten anything yet lass? There's still left- overs from breakfast if you're hungry."

Lostoriel smiled appreciatively at Balin. Between him, Dwalin and Bilbo she was well looked after, though she knew that Balin had been mother-henning around her more since her fight with Thorin. And truth be told, she wasn't against it at all. Balin was a sweet, old dwarf, stern and sarcastic, but kind, nonetheless.

"You needn't worry about me Balin. I've been packed since last night." This was a lie. Lostoriel had woken up late and hastily shoved her belongings into a bag and then dashed out into the barn to help them with last minute packing.

"And I've eaten already, though Bilbo's tempted me to a second breakfast at least twice in the last hour. And while I'm at it, we've packed the last of the vegetables on Fili's pony and Beorn's spared us a third reel of rope just in case."

Balin laughed and stole an amused glance at the flustered hobbit who was struggling to saddle his pony. "That's good, we'll be off in no time. If you need anything else tell me and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you Balin, but you really don't need to fuss over me. I've done my fair share of travelling through the years."

He scoffed as if she were telling him that the sun shone in the twilight and the moon in the day. "Nonsense lass." Balin gently placed his wrinkled hand over hers, "I know you have Lostoriel, but everyone needs someone to fuss over them once in a while and truth be told lass I have grown rather fond of you."

Lostoriel thought she had seen everything life had to offer in her long existence, but hearing a dwarf as old and set in his ways as Balin say that he cared for her was a shock and there was no doubt about it.

He sucked in a deep breath and then plunged with extreme trepidation, "More so, I've been worried about you lass. You don't… Have to bear this alone you know. Thorin is hard-headed and stubborn as the mountains themselves, but we're all here for you. Are you alright Lostoriel?"

His words came as a surprise and Lostoriel found a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. Last night the idea of travelling further east, of travelling 'home' had seemed like a far-off, wistful dream. But now standing in Beorn's saddling yard, saddling their horses, and preparing to ride, Lostoriel felt the horrid sensation of reality descend upon her. She was going home, where she could very well see her family again and her people. Or die. Whichever one came first really.

It was too much to bear along with the growing rift between her and Thorin. He and her had still not spoken, not that she intended too anytime soon. Lostoriel was too busy being preoccupied with trying to find a way to get them through the forest safely and to get herself through the whole situation in one piece. All in all, Lostoriel was hanging on by the hastily fraying ends of a string.

Despite all this Lostoriel was grateful for Balin's honesty and his kindness. Funnily enough she felt that it was Balin who understood her the most out of all the Dwarves and Bilbo. Perhaps it was his age or the fact that he distinctly reminded her of Galion, her father's right-hand ellon. Balin had wide shoulders and maybe she would allow him to carry some of the weight that rested upon hers.

"I'm nowhere near alright Balin, but I will get there soon enough." Lostoriel placed her other hand on his, "Thank you for your kind words, you do not realise how much it means to me."

Balin was about to answer when the shrill, screeching of the carrion birds roared above them like some squawking storm. They flew as an undulating black cloud over the clearing and beyond the thick tree line that shielded them from the unfriendly eyes of their pursuers. The Company paused and watched as they passed over. Thorin locked eyes with Lostoriel from where he sat atop his pony, the message clear in both their features. He was afraid, but that fear soon darkened into anger and then into something Lostoriel could not place and Thorin tore his gaze away from hers.

"We are being watched," remarked Gandalf, his brows set in a thick line of concern.

Lostoriel's stomach flipped as she left Balin and hurried to her horse. Quickly throwing the thick blanket onto his back, she set the leather saddle on top then buckled up the straps as quickly and efficiently as she could.  
They needed to get moving and soon. She glared at the chestnut gelding who tried to bite at her sleeves and stared at her with what she could only describe as annoyance in his glassy brown eyes. She bent down to tighten Biter's girth strap whilst Gandalf continued to stare at the sky as if the answers to all his questions would simply fall upon him. She knew from past battles that the orcs, or at least those ones with enough intelligence, often used birds to do a reconnaissance sweep on their enemies. It was a quick and effective technique and one she despised with a fiery hatred. The fair creatures of the earth being used for evil deeds had always been a sore point for the WoodElves, who regarded all life with respect and dignity.

Biter lived up to his namesake and nipped at her shoulder as she slipped the leather through the buckle and swore. The horse gave her a side-long stare, as if daring her to retaliate.

"Why you little-" She huffed as she glared at the loosened strap. The damned horse had held his breath as she had been tightening the girth. It was an old trick that every horse did at least once so that the saddle would be loose and comfortable, whilst their riders could fall off at any moment. Lostoriel's glare went from frosty to winter ice as she hastily undid the buckle and felt Biter suck in another deep breath. How she could have fallen for that old trick she didn't know.

"You know Biter," she said as she kneed him between the ribs and re-tightened the strap when he released the pent-up air, "You really should learn some new tricks mellon-nὶn."

" Yes," agreed Beorn from behind her. "The Orcs will not give up. They will hunt the dwarves until they see them destroyed."

This time she halted her movements and quickly moved to inspect Biter's hooves. The last thing she wanted was Biter to go lame whilst they were riding for their lives. Lostoriel prayed that he wouldn't live up to his name and decide to nibble on her hair. She understood now why Gandalf had insisted on riding upon the grey mare and cursed the wizard for doing so.

"Why now? What has made the Defiler crawl from his hole?" asked Gandalf with such graveness in his voice that Lostoriel's stomach sank to the ground. If Azog was after the Company then he would be after her too. How they were to travel across leagues of open land without being spotted was beyond her. Sixteen travellers would leave a trail, no matter what route they took.

"What do you know of this sorcerer? The one they call the Necromancer?" continued Gandalf as Lostoriel peered between Biter's legs at the tall wizard and skin-changer, who stood scanning the skies for any further spies.

"I know he is not what he seems," answered Beorn as his piercing gaze caught Lostoriel staring in their direction. "Fell things are drawn to his power. Azog pays homage to him."

Her stomach flipped again, and she immediately averted her gaze and busied herself with rechecking that her bedroll and pack were properly tied to her saddle, whilst still eavesdropping on their conversation. He is not what he seems. Beorn's words weighed heavily on Lostoriel's mind and she was taken back to when she had seen a flash of 'the eye' all those nights ago.

No, she told herself again when the cold breeze brushed past her face, it was just her imagination going wild again.

"There is more," continued Beorn in a grim voice, "not long past word had spread that the dead had been seen walking near the high fells of Rhudaur."

"The dead?"

This time Lostoriel didn't bother hiding her astonishment and gaped at Beorn. The High Fells of Rhudaur had been abandoned and forgotten by many for centuries since before she was born. She had heard rumours of the evil that was buried within those mountains. She had heard the harrowing tales of the fallen kings who had succumbed to the power of the nine rings. But this was beyond terrifying. There was only one power that she knew of that could bring back such evil and it was long since defeated.

"Is it true? Are there tombs in those mountains?" asked Beorn, his face set in stony lines of worry as his gaze flitted between Gandalf and Lostoriel who was still staring at the pair.

A cold shiver had her har pricking upwards as it ran up her spine. Lostoriel recalled fragments of the legend in her memory.

"Yes, there are tombs there."

Gandalf's soft voice tugged her from her thoughts, and she shuddered again, inching her sword from its scabbard for the sake of her own peace of mind. Terrifying as it might be, it was just a rumour and she had never been one to solidify her beliefs on such flighty things. However, from their short time spent together she knew that Beorn was an honourable man and that he did not speak of, nor believe rumours lightly. If he was seeking Mithrandir's council on this word of mouth, then surely something was afoot.

Beorn looked straight at her and beckoned her towards them. The elf stood guilty as a child caught in the act of breaking the rules, having enough humility to at least look shame-faced for her eaves- dropping. Lostoriel flashed Gandalf an apologetic smile before handing Biter's reins to Nori and joining them.

"I have heard the tales of Angmar and Rhudaur, though I don't remember them in full," began Lostoriel in a quiet voice.  
The harrowing tale had been told to her as a young child by the warriors who had been alive long enough to have fought against the terrible evil that arose from Angmar. She shuddered again as a cold shiver ran up her spine, "The tombs in Rhudaur were meant to serve as a prison to withhold the evil that had been buried there all that time ago, if I am not mistaken Mithrandir?"

The wizard nodded grimly, seeming older and wearier than Lostoriel had seen him ever look before.

"The legend holds that when Angmar fell, the men of the North took his body and buried it within a grave dug so deep within the rock and enchanted so that it would the light would never touch it again. However, if I recall correctly, he was only the first of nine to be buried there. If what you speak of is true Beorn, I- "

What Lostoriel thought, they never got to hear when Dwalin, who had been glaring at Sunflower, called out to her, "Oy lass! Could you get your dog to stop sniffing about my things?"

Both Beorn and Gandalf shook their heads in exasperation.

"He truly has not taken to her, has he?" asked Beorn with a look ranging somewhere between annoyance and amusement.

"It appears not," Gandalf said tiredly, "though I strongly suggest you go and break up…Whatever quarrel that's happening between them before they try to kill each other, my dear."

Lostoriel raised her brows and made her way back into the throng of bustling Dwarves, watching as Sunflower whined and panted in front of Dwalin, obviously wanting the dried meat that he had stored within one of the bags.

"Good. Time you got a reign on that excitable mutt of yours," huffed Dwalin as Sunflower sadly turned her attention away from him and to Lostoriel. He mounted his pony, still glaring down at the panting wolf below.

"She is not a mutt and you'd do good to remember that. All she wants," Lostoriel knelt down and scratched the wolf behind her ears, "Is some love!"

"Love, my foot." She heard him grumble as he rode off to Thorin. Through the chaos of the Dwarves attempting to help Bilbo onto his pony and Thorin's last minute checks to their packs, she heard Gandalf speak.

"Saruman the White says it's not possible. The enemy was destroyed and will never return."

Lostoriel had a natural aversion to anything that Saruman had to say, especially after his concerning and insensitive words in Imladris. Gandalf's loyalty to the highest of their Order was unwavering, but he was wise enough to know when to believe his gut and not the words of that sleazy old coot. The elf bristled as she took the reins to her horse from Bifur, she at least hoped Gandalf would listen to his intuition.

With her nose practically glued to the ground and her tail slapping both the chestnut stallion and Lostoriel's ankles, Sunflower pawed at the grass and threaded her way through the long legs of the horse as she studied the tall creature. Lostoriel stood back and watched the two animals in amusement. Biter puffed air into the wolf's face when her tail hit his eye, as if saying, come near me again and I'll show you where you can stick that irritating tail of yours.

Lostoriel caught herself smiling like an idiot and scoffed at herself for thinking such foolish thoughts. It really had seemed like the horse was speaking. Truthfully, she wouldn't have been shocked after seeing how Beorn easily communicated with all the animals he kept.

* * *

The Company paused and watched as Thorin bade Beorn farewell. They were all disappointed to be leaving the comfort of his home so soon. It had felt as if they could rest there and forget about the threat of the dragon for another year or so. But duty called and they would answer.

Sunflower rubbed against Lostoriel's leg, covering her pants in tufts of grey and white fur. She gazed up into the elf's eyes with such a look of sadness that Lostoriel had no choice but to bend down and engulf the wolf in a shower of love.

"I cannot take you with me." The elf coughed away the lump in her throat. Sunflower cocked her head to the side and whined, clearly disagreeing with her two-legged companion. "Please don't look at me like that, I wish that I could bring you with me, but you belong here mellon-nin."

She felt a hand gently clamp down on her shoulder and looked up and into Gandalf's apologetic eyes, "Come young elfling, it is time."

Lostoriel blinked away the tears that threatened to fall as she nodded to the wizard, who flashed her the kindest smile he could muster. She took comfort in the way it reached his eyes, feeling like she was a child again, being gently told that she couldn't keep a creature as a pet. Gandalf had always had a soft spot for her. Now as she left behind perhaps the only one who seemed to take her as she is, Lostoriel felt numb.

"Not every farewell is goodbye."

With that cryptic line the wizard was gone, already halfway to his horse when Beorn whistled three sharp notes and Sunflower bolted back to him, jumping and yipping around his long legs until he bent down and ruffled her thick coat.

As the Company moved out Lostoriel remained behind and watched the pair of friends with a guilty heart. She had grown attached to the wolf and there was no doubt about it. She knew that a journey into the dragon's lair was no place for a wolf, it wasn't a place for anyone really. Yet here she was with a hope beyond all hope that maybe, just maybe her four-legged companion to come with her. Lostoriel swallowed the hard lump in her throat, Sunflower was Beorn's charge, but she was his friend too and Lostoriel knew that it was time to let her go.

"It pains you to leave her behind." Beorn stated rather than asking, rising to his feet, and studying the disheartened WoodElf before him.

Lostoriel did not trust her voice and simply nodded, berating herself for becoming too sentimental over an animal that did not belong to her. But that wolf, Sunflower, was the only one she had met on this journey who did not see her as a walking nightmare. "It would pain any elf to leave behind such a creature."

The elf forced a smile onto her face and held out her hand which Beorn grasped. Lostoriel bit back a grimace, her hand felt like it was being constricted by a snake. She wasn't sure if Beorn realised what a strong grip he had, but through his strength she knew that he was an honourable man who, beneath all that toughness had a kind heart.

"Thank you for your hospitality and for providing for us so generously. I know that these Dwarves can be…Well a complete and utter headache to deal with."

He shrugged as he took his hand back, "Perhaps they are not so bad after all."

"No," Lostoriel looked over her shoulder to where the Company awaited her before the treeline and then back at Beorn who she swore had a smile on his face. Thorin and her weren't on conversational terms yet, but that did not mean that the rest of their companions were in her bad books. "No, they're not."

She clicked her tongue and Biter trotted towards her. She hopped into the saddle with ease, laid her bow over the pommel. Lostoriel flicked the grey hood of her cloak up and nodded solemnly to Beorn and set Biter off at a steady canter to catch up to her companions.

They had not been riding for long when a hair-raising roar echoed down from the hills they had just descended. The entire Company came to a halt. Lostoriel watched from the back of the group as Thorin held a finger to his lips and shook his head, signalling for them to stay silent in case they missed the second roar which would indicate that there were orcs nearby. Beorn had given them a twenty- minute head start and was now following them as their rear-guard.

Lostoriel breathed out a sigh of relief when no second call came, and they were on the move once again.

Thorin slowed his pony to a trot as he drew up along-side Fili and Kili who rode behind Gandalf at the head of the column. It had been some hours since he had last spoken to either of his nephews and judging from the way Kili now slouched miserably in his saddle and the irritated manner in which Fili kept tapping his hand against his thigh he could see both his nephews were , to the sorrow of the Company, bored.

"Ants in your trousers lads?" he asked in a tone so gleeful that it was almost painful. Mahal only knew what his boys were planning, that was if they were planning anything.

Kili jumped, startled by his uncle's sudden appearance. The young dwarf flushed pink and scratched the back of his head.

"No," he said weakly and knew that Thorin was not convinced. "We were just speaking about amad."

Fili turned his horse and trotted to Thorin's other side so that their uncle rode between them. He said nothing as yet, which set a worm of worry in Thorin's stomach. Fili was open to sharing how he felt, he had been an incredibly sensitive, loving boy and he and Thorin had a close bond. That bubbly child he had helped to raise was now gone, quickly being buried under the intense responsibility that came with being the crown prince. Fili wore it as a wall around his shoulders, not as a burden. Thorin knew this, Fili wore it with no complaint. Only now Thorin wished that he had not placed so much pressure on Fili when they set out on this quest. Should he die then Fili would take his place as King and Thorin had to ensure that his eldest nephew was ready for it.

"We miss her." continued Kili as he solemnly rubbed the stone in his palm.

"I miss her too, Kili. And I have no doubt that she misses you both," Thorin reached over to squeeze Kili and then Fili's shoulders, "we will see her again soon."

"How can you be sure of it?"

Both Thorin and Kili turned in their saddles, varying degrees of shock and despair on their faces. Thorin let his mask slip away, he could never lie to them and for once he knew that the truth was what they needed. Their uncle reigned in his horse and signalled for the rest of the company to follow Gandalf.

Once the long line of dwarves and a thoroughly red-faced and sneezing Bilbo had passed by, Thorin rode to face his nephews and spotted Lostoriel on the ridge behind them, her bow ready to kill anything that threatened him and the boys. Kili's polite grunt brought him back to the present.

"I cannot," he stated simply, hating how the gravity of his words held true. "But what I do know is that we will see this through. Every last one of this company, including the three of us," his solemn expression grew dark, "and should it come to it then I will fight to my last breath to make sure you both see your mother again and Aven. The sons of Durin do not so easily give up hope. We will make it to Erebor and we will live to see our people again."

"But what if we do not Uncle?" Fili persisted.

"I understand your fears Fili, for I share them too. What I do know is that if we do then our quest will not have been in vain," he paused, considering both his young, uncertain nephews, "Do not lose hope yet my sons, for so long as we draw breath there is hope."

Whatever more Thorin had to say was drowned out by the hasty thudding of hooves on the grass as Biter galloped towards them. Lostoriel's furrowed brows could be seen from where they stood atop the knoll and the fact that she had an arrow set on her bow told them that she bore ill news. Biter covered the short distance from her watchpoint to where they stood in a matter of minutes and soon the horse slowed to a trot near Fili.

"Come, we must not tarry," Lostoriel quickly glanced over her shoulder, raising her bow just in case a foul face presented itself over the ridge behind them, "Beorn has sent word that Bolg and his friends are on the move."

The warmth of the midday sun reached them as they stopped on a high hill overlooking the deep, green valley below. The Woodland Realm stretched before them. From this distance the trees were gnarled and grey for miles on end until it starkly clashed with the vivid tones of green and red that rolled on for as far as the eye could see.

The Company studied the forest disdainfully, seeing none of the grandeur that Lostoriel had described, but instead a forest drenched in shadow.

Lostoriel reined in her pony, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun as she squinted at a shimmering light that seemed to pulse at the jagged line where the dying trees met the living ones. A thin veil of grey, almost silver mist hung over the black forest, stretching from the south where the tops of a dilapidated fortress peaked from the trees. The mist clashed somewhere in the middle of the forest with a force that pushed back the mist with such intensity that it seemed to waver and break in several places.

"By my beard, what enchantment is this?" whispered Bofur, his voice carrying like a shout to the rest of the company.

Lostoriel gulped and gripped onto the reins until her knuckles turned white and the leather bit into her skin. Home. The word resonated in her mind, drowning out Gandalf's voice as he explained what had befallen the woods and what fought against it. The elf clutched the pendant of her necklace and sighed. There was only one elf in the GreenWood who could muster such power to fight against the darkness of Dol Guldur. The light haze that hung over the fringes of a forest that was barely imperceptible on the horizon was produced by the power of Lady Galadriel herself. But this was her Adar, still waging a steady fight against the evil that sought to gain a foothold in their home. It warmed her heart to know that he was still fighting, still breathing. And yet the very thought of stepping foot into that forest set a weight rooting her to the ground.

That night they camped under the watchful eyes of the stars, clouds raced to blanket the sky and soon the night drew cold. The Company were not deterred by the onset of the autumn breeze, instead they smoked their pipes alongside Bilbo and Gandalf, who created the most mesmerising shapes and creatures with a single puff of smoke. They were all in good spirits after their recuperative stay in Beorn's home, all except Thorin of course. The dwarf had slung his blankets across his shoulders and sat gazing into the fire with such intensity that Dwalin thought he could have set the wood ablaze.

Lostoriel did not fare any better. She did not join them in their cheerful singing but sat silently observing and listening, she wasn't in the mood for laughter or song. She wasn't even in the mood for Bofur's jokes that he cracked that set the dwarves roaring with laughter and scaring the poor birds from the trees. The ride to the forest had been easy enough, but now she was having second thoughts about her brave words about them through the woods.

Serves you right for your unbridled tongue, she thought miserably, poking the fire with a large stick. Lostoriel gazed across the fire at Thorin who sat between Fili and Kili, studying the map of Mirkwood that was sprawled out in front of him.

When they had the fire going and had pitched their small tents, Thorin, Gandalf, Balin, Fili and Kili and Lostoriel had gathered around the map to replot their path to the GreenWood for the next day. Around sunset Beorn had brought word that the orcs had caught onto their trail and would be upon them within the next three days, depending on which path they took the next day. Seeing that they were already travelling along the great east road it made no sense trying to find another path to take, they'd be safe anyway with Beorn guarding them from behind.

She wanted to go over to him and apologise for her harsh words in Beorn's garden, but he seemed relatively unbothered at the moment and it would do him good to bask in whatever peace he still felt. Judging what Gandalf had told them about the forest, this might be the last night of tranquillity any of them would have in the coming days. So instead she plodded to the nearest tree and hopped up into it, setting her bow across her lap and her quiver to a lower branch as she watched the night pass above her.

The GreenWood was not living up to its name, Lostoriel mused as she dismounted from Biter and scrutinised the grey, almost blue mass of tangled trees. Lostoriel thought her eyes had played a cruel trick on her mind when they had been further back from the forest and the trees had looked simply clumped together and grey in the dim morning light.

The thunder rolled over head and the rain began to steadily beat down upon them once again. The trees before them stood as a monotonous greyscale that stretched for as far as the eye could see in both directions. The trees were gnarled. Their trunks clumped and twisted together, thick, black vines hung from their dead boughs and the grey, frail branches grated against each other in the wind that whistled through the sick forest.

Lostoriel could feel the illness of her beloved home radiating from the trees, the heavy enchantment that had only just begun to spread when she had "left," now oozed from the dead trees , having soaked up their life and killed their joy from within. This was not her home. Anger boiled up within her, deep, hollow anger that she had not felt for a century brimmed at the surface, how dare whatever malice lives in their woods go unchecked. How dare the white council sit idly while this, this decay of a once mesmerizing woods occurred! Lostoriel had half the mind to ride South and tear down that forsaken fortress with her own hands, but not before she rode to Lothlorien and gave those Noldor a piece of her mind.

"This forest... Feels sick," she vaguely heard Bilbo speaking, "as if a disease lies upon it. Is there no way around it?"

Lostoriel could not help but agree with Bilbo's observation. It was as if she stared into a shadow of a dream. Haunting, ashen, lifeless. She shifted uncomfortably in the saddle; she was not ready for this. It was dizzying to gaze upon the grey-washed trees, the amber and yellow leaves that seemed brown in the shadows of the forest. Her heart clenched and like the first thunder of the storm, released a wave of desolation beyond comprehension. Her beloved forest was dying.

"Not unless we go two hundred miles north and two hundred miles south..." Gandalf's voice seemed distant in her ears.

"Lostoriel." The wizard beside his horse, one hand on his hips and he stared at her, slightly exasperatedly. "Come with me please, my dear."

Lostoriel snapped out of her daydreaming, grabbed her bow and sword, and dismounted, handing Biter's reins to Nori, who led him away to be unsaddled. The elf strapped her sword to her belt and flicked her hood clear of her quiver, ready for any sign of an attack. One more step and she would be within borders that had long since forgotten her name.

Gandalf was standing admiring the huge tusks and antlers that formed the elven gate and marked the start of their long trek on the elven road. Lostoriel came to stand beside him and whistled softly as she took in the towering ivory, "It's been a long time Mithrandir. One more step and I'll be on my way…home."

It truly had been a long time since she stood before the great gates of the GreenWood. She recalled the grandeur of this entrance from her childhood. No ivy had crept up the massive carvings of the antlers, the path had not been cracked and broken, or reclaimed by the forest as it was now. Bird song had filled the air and the soft sounds of the forest creatures as they crept about the trees had echoed like a symphony. Now there was only the heavy silence, even from outside the woods it seemed as if she were listening to the world from beneath a blanket.

"And the woods will welcome you. Do not despair where there is none to be found. Don't forget what I've told you." Gandalf nodded at her to follow him, concern furrowing his brows. Lostoriel for what seemed like the hundredth time, hated it when the wizard spoke some semblance of truth.

She sucked in a shaky breath and stepped foot over the threshold and into the WoodLand Realm. A coldness washed over her as if the sun had been stolen by the night in a sudden gust of wind and then from the depths of her bones a warmth erupted. Out of nowhere, like the winter sun on her toes it swelled in waves, small at first but gradually increasing until she felt a familiar pull. One that had been cut off the moment she had awoken on earth. Hope still resonated in the dying forest. And a magic waged a taxing war against the shadow from the South. The princess held her chin a little higher.

The leaves crunched beneath Gandalf's feet as he picked his way along the path, "No matter what happens in this forest must ensure that you stay on the path. I fear that since you've been gone for so long that the enchantment will try to trick you too."

The pair lapsed into silence as they passed by a smooth, circular table of stone. She had long since forgotten its use, just as the forest had forgotten its existence. The ivy tickled Lostoriel's hand as she ran her fingers along the ancient marble, not recalling this entrance before the darkness had settled over it. Gandalf moved further along the stone pathway and halted before a tall, broad marble statue that was now entangled with grey vines and ashen creepers. The white marble was barely visible at its feet, and its hands bearing a bouquet of woodland flowers was all but faded.

Lostoriel came to a slow stop behind Gandalf, her hands shaking, "Naneth." she whispered, the silence of the forest and the solemnity of her mother's statue demanded it.

Gandalf turned sad eyes to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "She rests."

"Aye." answered Lostoriel despondently, without moving her eyes from the uncanny realism of the statue. Gandalf smiled to himself at her use of the dwarven phrase and continued to study the marble, there was something off about it.

Lostoriel sensed it too and stepped forward to brush away the nest of vines that covered the face. She inhaled sharply as a crude depiction of a crimson eye desecrated her father's memorial to her mother. Lostoriel tightened her grip on her bow as Gandalf moved in to take a closer look.

"Beware the Necromancer," Lady Galadriel's voice echoed in both their minds and the pair locked eyes, the unspoken fear freezing them both, "He is not what he seems."

Just as she said the words Gandalf and Lostoriel jumped as the amber, burning eye from her dreams flashed in their minds.

"Mithrandir." Said Lostoriel in a grave voice, "That was no figment of our imaginations was it?"

But Gandalf did not answer. Instead he turned and slowly shook his head as if he himself could not believe what he and her had just witnessed. The grey wizard he had gathered his robes about him and bolted towards the edge of the treeline. He looked back at her, his entire face aged like Lostoriel had never seen before, "I am afraid you'll be leading the Dwarves through Mirkwood on your own Lostoriel."

The Elf frowned and hurried to catch up with him, "Gandalf! Wait! Where are you going?"

Mithrandir did not turn back, and the pair burst back into the group, seeing the Dwarves already unsaddling their ponies he shouted, "Not my horse! I'll need him!"

"... Leaving us, are you?" Lostoriel caught the tail end of Bilbo's question as Gandalf tightened the girth straps around his horse and repacked what provisions he would take with him.

"I would not do this unless I had to." He apologised to a crestfallen Bilbo as Lostoriel ran up behind them. She was almost upon them when someone grabbed her elbow. She looked down and met the question in Thorin's eyes. Lostoriel had no clue what the wizard was planning and simply shook her head and shrugged. She didn't want to travel without Gandalf, not after they had just gotten him back. Thorin gently let her go and turned to Dwalin who looked just as stunned as the rest of them.

Lostoriel silently strode up behind Bilbo, a thousand questions swarming in her mind.

"I was going to tell you…" Began Bilbo with a nervous gulp and caused Lostoriel to freeze, her curiosity piqued. "I... Found something in the Goblin tunnels."

Gandalf leaned forward, his eyes flitting from Lostoriel to Bilbo in suspicion,"Found what?"

His question came slowly, as if he were peeling back the many layers that enclosed Bilbo Baggins. Lostoriel and Gandalf both noticed the fitful manner with which Bilbo fiddled with the contents of his pocket. And Lostoriel knew then that it was the ring that he had picked up in Gollum's cave. She saw it again in her mind, the flash of gold in the shadows of Beorn's barn, the piercing eye that seemed to sear into her memory in the forest and the cloud that seemed to hang around Bilbo whenever he

"What did you find?"

The tension that gripped the hobbit was palpable and Lostoriel knew then that something was off about that mysterious ring of his. Dwarves guarded their treasures with the utmost secrecy, even men and elves did so, but to keep this from Gandalf was a feat unheard of. Lostoriel stepped back not understanding why her sweet and endearing friend was lying to Gandalf.

Bilbo coughed awkwardly and stole his hand away from his pocket, "My courage."

Oh please, Lostoriel couldn't help the snort that escaped her, nor the baleful gaze that Gandalf turned upon her.

"Good." Said the wizard as he studied Bilbo with a frown, as if not quite recognising him as the hobbit he once knew. Lostoriel watched as he nodded with that life affirming nod she had come to associate with Mithrandir. Life affirming or extremely, frustratingly vague, whatever it was Lostoriel wished he would stop being so cryptic and spontaneous, "Well, that's good. You'll need it."

Gandalf turned and gestured for her to follow. Lostoriel paced beside him, having to speed up her walk to keep up with his brisk stride. She did not appreciate the mounting concern that weighed his face down, nor the grim air of acceptance that floated about him, "Mithrandir, care to tell me where you're going?" she asked. But he did not answer.

Instead he came to an abrupt halt before Thorin and scrutinised them both, "I suggest that you remain true to our plan for getting through the Wood. I'll be waiting for you at the overlook before the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and key safe." Then with a tone that broke no argument and a stare that starkly reminded Lostoriel of being warned by her father, "Do not enter that mountain without me!"

"This is not the Greenwood of old." He continued, looking over the entire Company this time as he warned them, "The very air of the forest is heavy with illusion. It will seek to enter your mind and lead you astray, all of you, Woodelf or not."

Gandalf strode to his horse and then turned back, remembering something equally as grave, "There is a river that runs from the south and through this part of the woods with waters as black and thick as the night itself. It has been tainted with the evil from the Fortress. The presence of the water will tempt you; it will attempt to draw you in. And it is of the utmost importance that you do not have even the slightest thought of drinking from it! For if you do you will be placed under an enchantment so heavy that even I could not break it in a hurry."

Well, isn't that just lovely, Lostoriel grimaced as she watched Gandalf mount his horse and caught the whispers of fear and suspicion that arose from the dwarves and Bilbo. This Enchanted Stream was news to her too. First the trees and now the water. It unsettled her, how the life of the forest was being sucked away by the growing shadow, more so it ate away at her soul. No elf would have allowed this to happen if it were within their control. For a WoodElf such as herself it was a burden too heavy to bear alone, but Lostoriel knew that she must. No matter how much she wished to join the wizard on his side adventure.

"You must stay on the path; do not leave it. If you do, you will never find it again." The wizard warned them gravely as he wheeled his horse around and took off at a canter to the North. Lostoriel wanted to call out after him, to go with him. But it was too late for Gandalf was cantering away with a distinct air of grim business about him.

"No matter what may come, stay on the path!" He called over his shoulder and soon became a grey speck against the yellow-green heather and gorse. The light drizzle gave way to a steady shower as they unsaddled their horses and released them back to Beorn, who watched them as a huge bear from a high hilltop.

"Lead us astray?" asked Bilbo in the general direction of Dwalin and Lostoriel. The hobbit looked as though he had a vague feeling of what a hunted rabbit felt like. "What does that mean?"

"What it means Master Baggins, is that there is danger afoot that we cannot escape." The sullen tone of acceptance in Lostoriel's voice did nothing to reassure him.

The Company faced the forest with palpable trepidation, each one imagining the horrors lay waiting for them. Thorin was the first of them to break the silence, he unslung his bow from his shoulder and studied each of his companions with steady determination in his eyes. "Come on. We must reach the mountain before the sun sets on Durin's Day. Lostoriel will lead the way from here until we reach the Eastern borders. This is our one chance to find the hidden door."

The dwarf king gestured for her to lead the way. Lostoriel sucked in a shaky breath and rolled her shoulders back, as she strolled to the front of the group. "Right gentlemen. Gandalf told us already and I'll say it again: this is not the forest of old, I don't know what we'll find in there, but I do know that we'll make it out of there alive. Remember, we must stay on the Elven Road at all costs. Let's go."

Lostoriel plunged into the treeline, taking one last glance at her mother's defiled statue, loosened her sword in its scabbard and swore that she would hunt down the orc responsible for marking it as such.

Behind her the dwarves murmured their assent and they parroted what Thorin and her had said and left Lostoriel wondering, not for the first time if they truly were so dim witted after all.

Their murmuring died down to stolen whispers as the greyness of the forest hovered all around them. The sunlight floated down in dribs and drabs through the thick canopy above and the rain began to steadily soak their clothing. Lostoriel hated every second of it. Her woollen coat began to grow heavy as the rain dripped off the leaves and made their way into her boots. Already she felt the thick, stagnant air of the forest penetrating her mind, tempting her to peak behind that gnarled tree that lay just off the path or to follow the sound of a nearby stream. The elf shook her head to clear away the murkiness that filled her mind and found that she could breathe a little easier when the trees spaced out on either side of the stone road and she could see for miles into the grim forest.

She was not the only one to feel such extreme discomfort as they ploughed down the winding path. The dwarves were on edge. Dwarves were naturally more accustomed to the coldness of stone and the dim world of the underground. Here in the thick, closely packed trees and travelling along a path that twisted and turned in random directions they felt claustrophobic, as if the very earth were spinning around them. Kili walked a little closer behind his brother, who intended to keep up with the elf who at least seemed to know where they were going.

Lostoriel had no clue where she was leading them. She knew that eventually the path leads out of the forest close to the Anduin river, however she only knew that because of the map she had studied the night before. She had a vague hope that they would run into a kind Elf who would show them the way. But considering the hot tempers of the dwarves she travelled with, perhaps it would be best if they travelled through undetected.

As they rounded a sharp twist in the path Lostoriel paused and brushed aside fallen leaves from the path. "The path goes this way."

The path had led them across fallen trees and vast chasms that lead to the black waters of one of the forest rivers. The trees seemed to cave in on one another and hide the path between their thick trunks.

"Can't say this is the most cheerful walk I've taken." Bofur piped up from the centre of the loose line they tramped in. A few amongst them chuckled, glad that someone decided to break the heavy silence that the forest demanded.

"You'd find more cheer in a graveyard than this!" Gloin grumbled, discontent with the way they were going. "How many days till we reach the other side? I'm not sure how much longer I can handle these trees staring at me."

Lostoriel rolled her eyes again, growing irritated with their constant complaining. She was fond of these dwarves, Gloin especially, but sometimes, just sometimes Lostoriel wished she could push them into a conveniently placed tree. They were all lucky that she was stuck at the head of the column and had Thorin and Bilbo to get through before she could reach them.

* * *

"Oh goodness no! Me, married! I'm perfectly happy as a single Hobbit, Bofur." said Bilbo with such distaste that one would've sworn he'd tasted a mouthful of bitter liquorice.

"Come on now lad. You can't be that opposed to it, any lass would be lucky to have you. Don't you agree Bifur?" Bofur cajoled him on, flashing both his eyebrows suggestively between his older brother and the blushing hobbit.

The dwarves mumble their assent, many of them laughed at the picture of their pedantic, worry-wort burglar who they had met all those months ago in BagEnd.

The sunlight had long since been lost between the creaking, lifeless boughs of Mirkwood. There was no bird song, no woodland creatures sneaking about under the moonlight. Only the crackling of the fire and the hushed rushing of the river filled the silence of the forest accompanied by a single owl hooting at irregular intervals.

The entire company was on edge and there was no doubt about it. The grating of wood against wood set their teeth grinding. The once tall, proud trees that sang were now mere skeletons. Creaking, thin and grey. As if all their life had been sucked out from their roots and their colour leached by the grey cloud that seemed to sit upon the woods.

And yet, Lostoriel smirked, it did not diminish their appetite for jester and laughter. She stoked the fire in the centre of their camp and leant back against a fallen log, enjoying the playful banter that the dwarves prided themselves in.

"Not to mention what a fine house you have Master Burglar," Gloin pointed his pipe at the hobbit, "any hobbit lass would consider herself go have such impeccably sharp knives."

Lostoriel felt lost as they burst into laughter ,clearly it was an inside joke because she had no clue as to why any girl would ever care about whether the knives were blunt or not and what that had to do with Bilbo. Poor Bilbo beside her was a hilarious shade of red up to his ears and looked pointedly at Lostoriel for help. The elf merely shrugged, having no witty remark to defend her friend with.

She had not been in the mood for their light-heartedness. Being in the forest sent her wandering down the paths of her memory to days when her heart was light and the forest fresh and green. The Dwarves and Bilbo were a day closer to Erebor, but Lostoriel was a day closer to a life she had no place in. She fiddled with the pendant on her necklace, wondering if her father had sensed her in the forest yet or if they would encounter her brother or Renieth or Faelon on one of their patrols. Lostoriel wanted to see them with every fibre of her being. But she was afraid. Time changes everyone, even the Elves. Though a hundred years was a mere day in their lives, it changed the WoodLand elves who lived in the present moment, who fought day after day to stay alive. She was afraid that they would no longer know each other.

"Say Lostoriel," Began Bofur, pulling her out from her musings with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, "you're a princess if I'm not mistaken."

Nori shook his head vigorously and held a finger in the air before Lostoriel could answer. "No no no, I 've been thinking about this long and hard." He began with a smug tone that told them that he held some safely guarded secret.

Whatever it was, it could not be good since Nori was notorious for not being able to keep his mouth shut about certain issues. Especially when it came to delving into Lostoriel's private life which she guarded like a dwarf his gold.

"And here we are with neither ink nor parchment to record this momentous occasion!" remarked Fili as the company burst into laughter.

He pointed Fili, "Oh shut up!" And then pointed at Lostoriel, "You've been gone a hundred years 'haven't you?"

The elf sighed internally, knowing precisely where this conversation was going and preparing herself for the ridicule that would undeniably follow. She answered with a weary sigh, "I have."

"So, don't that mean that you've got no claim to the throne?"

Lostoriel felt her entire body go red as their expectant gazes burned into her.

"Lads, our princess is actually no longer a princess at all. You see, we've been my lady-ing and bowing and all that for months now when in fact, Lostoriel is no more a commoner than the rest of us."

The silence was palpable and Lostoriel thought that she could just die then and there. Had it not been Nori speaking perhaps she would have been at least a little upset with the crassness with which he put it.

Fili and Kili grinned smugly at each other as Lostoriel's face soured.

"So...Technically," began Fili , frowning as if asking a question. He wagged a finger between Kili and himself, not noticing the smirk that formed on Thorin's face. "We outrank you."

"Goodness Fi, I believe we do!" Kili's victorious smile stretched from ear to ear. Lostoriel had the sudden urge to find out what it would be like to jump off a cliff.

"I believe you can call us my lords, or your highness or my dashing princes from now on." Kili winked at her, basking himself in the glory of this new information.

"Also, this means that you can't tell us what to do."

Before they could carry on Thorin rose from between his nephews to make his way to check on Dwalin and Bofur who were currently keeping the watch. And with the intention of saving Lostoriel anymore teasing. He understood why she looked so crestfallen. It was no easy thing to return to a home that one had lost. Nor was it easy to reclaim one's title. He knew this better than anyone and despite their argument he was determined to earn her forgiveness for she was his friend and he didn't want to lose her again. "Alright lads, I think that is quite enough for one night. Come we should get some rest; tomorrow is another long day."

Lostoriel turned a withering glare at Nori, "Thank you for that Nori." She looked as if she could have ripped his head off his shoulders, but instead of decapitating the snarky dwarf she rose from the log and stretched. "I believe this is where I leave you if I am to maintain what dignity I still have."

Unfortunately, Lostoriel had little of it left and decided that she would relieve Bofur of his watch duties. She followed Thorin to where the pair of dwarves stood

Lostoriel was still mad at him. She had managed to keep her anger at bay for the better part of two days, mainly to keep the peace in the Company. But now walking on the edge of the firelight she could feel her irritation with Thorin flare up and the air between them grow thick.

"I hope you do not take offence to Fili and Kili's jesting. They are young and foolish, I know, but they mean no harm." He started off awkwardly and Lostoriel knew it, the strain in his voice gave him away. He was trying to make amends, but all he served in doing was making her angrier.

Lostoriel raised an eyebrow at him and turned back to the night ahead of them. Though the pair of dwarves stood only a little way from the reaches of the firelight, Lostoriel felt the piercing gaze of a thousand silver eyes watching her from the shadows. They seemed to shift as she moved. Watching her back. Gauging where the weak points of the Company rested. Waiting to strike.

An icy spider of a shiver crawled up her back and Lostoriel jumped when Thorin coughed, his bulky form and sword flashing in the firelight reminded her of some mad man in the woods. Through the dark she saw the remorse in his eyes and wondered if she were being irrational.

"Lostoriel, there is a chance for you to gain back your title-"

He definitely had an interesting way of starting off an apology, she had to give him that. But the elf would hear nothing, not now in the middle of the woods. "Listen Thorin, I appreciate the sentiment. But don't pretend like we can start off where we picked off. The times for making amends is not now! " She snapped and stormed off in the direction of Bifur, bristling in indignation the entire time.

Bifur plodded gratefully back to the camp as she took his place with an arrow resting lightly against her bowstring in case any of the watchers of the night decided to attack. And as she stood in the silence Lostoriel felt the forest come to life around her. To her left she could hear the glacial flow of the Enchanted River, to her right a twig snapped under the hooves of a woodland deer- she could see its amber eyes glowing in the dark- and from somewhere above a lone owl hooted to an irregular tempo that flowed against the disconcerting symphony of the dying forest.

Perhaps it was the icy wind that caused the leafless branches to creak against one another, or the cool air that seemed to hang like drapery around her head, but Lostoriel knew that the forest would not treat them as it once would. There was something amiss in these woods. She placed her hand against a nearby trunk, closed her eyes and sang an ancient song she had never forgotten, hoping to awaken the tree.

For a moment she felt something flicker beneath her palm. A warmth, like the golden sunlight shining through the heaviest of clouds. And then like the flip of a light switch it was gone and Lostoriel turned away to face the darkness of the forest with the cold realisation that they needed to travel North to Elven lands as fast and as quickly as possible.


	20. The Woods are Deceptive, Dark and Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick disclaimer: The line marked off with an * doesn't belong to me, but to Ernst Hemmingway. All rights to the line belong to him. Not me. i just liked it...

Darkness. Swirling, twisting into silver droplets of light that swam in her eyes. The morning had thankfully dawned bright and clear. Their first night camping in the forest had been a nightmare. Unfriendly eyes bored into them as they slept, the muffled crunching of leaves beneath heavy creatures dug into their consciousness and the absence of any semblance of light left the Company gathered closely around the fire, praying for the dawn's swift return.

Now as the midmorning sun fought its way through the thick tangle of branches, Lostoriel's chest compressed itself into an anvil upon which her heart beat with the force of the greatest hammer in Erebor. The forest choked her. The air thickened with every breath. It was like the sweltering heat of a summer's day, but ten times worse, stealing the breath from her lungs and sending her head spinning.

Lostoriel gasped and leaned against a nearby tree, she didn't recall the dark magic that hung over the forest being this strong. Nor did she remember the forest being so quiet. Her heart longed to hear the soft chattering of the birds, the muffled footfalls of the deer and see the bright blossoms of pure white wood sorrel, or the lavender that grew with abundance under the care of the Woodelves and the sweet scent of bluebells.

She studied the fork in the road ahead of them. Dying trees lined the way. So corrupted by the enchantment that hung over the wood which sunk deep into their roots and set the decay flowing up to their boughs. They did not sing; they could not speak. Their voices had been drowned out.

The sunlight struggled through the haphazard maze of branches and leaves, trickling down through what seemed like silver clouds. Lostoriel reached out to touch the droplets of light that fell before her, it rested on her hand for a fleeting moment and then slipped away through the trees and halted as if waiting for her to follow. The comforting warmth around her chest seemed to push her forward and before she knew it the Company was out of her sight.

Thorin's annoying, but not unwelcome voice pulled her from the heavy enchantment that sought to steal her away.

"We should take the middle way, Gandalf told us not to stray from the path…"

They had been arguing for some time, about which way to take. Thorin remained determined to not leave the path they had been walking since the dawn, he wanted to travel through the forest as fast as possible and grew disturbingly eager to reach the Mountain. Lostoriel on the other hand had a worm of worry eating away at her mind, she had awoken to strange dreams and the unease had set her on edge.

"I told you already, if we go right, we'll end up at the Elven Stronghold, which is the last place we want to be!" Lostoriel huffed as she pointed angrily towards the three- way fork in the road.

"If we go left then we should pass by the bridge Gandalf spoke of and take the path going around the fortress! And if we go tromping down the westward leading path then we'll end up in Dol Guldur and maybe we'll stop and have some tea with Azog and his lovely friends!"

Thorin rolled his eyes heavenward and prayed for some miracle to get them out of the accursed forest. "And if I recall correctly, I'm the one leading this quest and not to mention that you've been gone a hundred years, so how, pray tell do you know that you're correct?"

The elf turned a withering stare his way and Thorin recoiled. She had definitely inherited that glare from her father. Lostoriel's blue eyes burned dangerously and her hand inched towards her sword.

To Thorin she looked wild. Her gleaming hair and otherworldly glow made her stand starkly against the dreary woods.

"I know that I'm correct because I've traversed these ways more times than you've been alive. And if you wish to argue with me then please by all means do! You can kiss any hopes you had of reaching Erebor alive goodbye!"

The dwarf huffed, his irritation with her rose and died with the realization that Lostoriel was right. The anger in his eyes faded into reluctant acceptance, "Fine. Wait here and I will recall the others."

Lostoriel said nothing more. She nodded and turned back to face the gloomy path ahead and listened with guilty relief as he tromped off to recall the Company who were being led by Fili and Dwalin.

Her hands shook fiercely from the pain that shot up like an electric shock from her fingertips to her shoulder blades. Everything burned white hot and Lostoriel sagged against the tree, breathless as she squeezed her eyes shut. The greyness morphed into the amber light of the throne room of the Greenwood.

'Why will you not see reason? The Dwarves are beyond our help,' her father's voice sprung into her mind from a memory that she had re-lived over and over again. 'They have led themselves to their own doom-'

'Have you no faith in them?' Lostoriel had been brave or stupid in that moment, which she did not know as she glared up at her father. He glided down the staircase from his throne. 'They are not beyond all hope Adar.'

'You are naïve to think so. Know you nothing of the sickness that lies over that gold?' Her father's words cut into her with the blunt force of being shot with an arrow in close range.

'And is your heart so frozen over that you feel no compassion, even for those who seek aid or is it that you choose to remain here? Hiding behind our stone walls, watching as the world burns around us? Aran-nὶn? Because if there is no place for others in your heart, then there is no place for me.'

She had spat those words like venom at her father. Had stormed out of the palace and into the forest. Leaving him with those words and never returning to remedy them.

Lostoriel grimaced and dug her nails into her palm. It became difficult to breathe and she wanted to run as far as she could from this forest. The loud chattering of the Dwarves and Bilbo came within her earshot and Lostoriel wiped away the stray tears from her cheeks. She righted herself and schooled her features, hoping that none of them would see the anger and grief churning behind her eyes.

The elf frowned as a new set of footsteps disturbed the beat of the forest. Immediately she had an arrow on her bowstring, listening and eyeing out the scramble of trees for this silent follower. It crunched the dry leaves to her left and the forest stilled as if disturbed by this newcomer's presence. Whatever it was padded along behind them. Watching and waiting to strike.

"What is it Lostoriel?" Dwalin's voice boomed over the silence and Lostoriel lowered her bow, keeping the arrow in place.

"Nothing to worry about Dwalin." _Not yet of course._ "We should move on."

* * *

The forest pulsated around them, the air thickening like the hottest days of summer. Shimmering like silver fairy dust. Creatures tumbled through the gorse and scuttered through the heather. The eyes of the woods watched as they moved. The forest floor slid backwards as they pushed forwards. The Company trudged down the Elven Road, cutting through tendrils of forget-me-nots that twisted their way down from the branches and snagged onto their hair and clothing. The light of the midday sun shimmered like light beneath water and with every step the creature following them grew closer.

"Come on, we should hurry!" Lostoriel called over her shoulder, but there was no need to as the Dwarves and Bilbo had long since fallen into silence.

The eeriness of the forest grated on their nerves and none of them, not even Fili or Kili were in the mood for conversation. Their silent march carried on for some time. Bilbo placed himself right behind Lostoriel, feeling that the safest place would be with the elf. The Dwarves were growing grumpier by the minute and the hobbit didn't know how much more of it that he could handle.

He had once heard that Dwarves could navigate the vast depths of the underground as if strolling on a Sunday afternoon. But he had also learnt that if one plonked thirteen of them into the dimmest, most haphazard forest in perhaps the entirety of Middle Earth, that they would stumble and fall over every root and stick and find the time to complain about it.

"How much longer till we find it?" asked Dori, finally breaking the thickening silence as they twisted around another unexpected turn in the path.

The ground steadily inclined from here, leading them away from the comfort of the Elven Gate and into the depths of the forest.

"I don't like the look of this place!" Bifur whispered to no one in particular.

Around them the remnants of a forgotten village rose through the undergrowth on either side of the path. Trees grew through the tiled rooves, ivy clung to the cracked walls as if clawing for hope that the villagers would return. The metal skeletons of lanterns and streetlamps littered the twisted trees, hole poked shoes, robes and carts were strewn across the way. Glass stuck out through the grass and nobody could escape the knowledge that this village was frozen in time and that perhaps they were not alone.

"You and me both Bifur." Lostoriel let out a weary huff and muttered a small prayer of peace though she doubted that anyone was listening.

She remembered this town in its younger days when it bustled with trade coming in from the human villages to the West. The laughter of children -human and elven- echoed through the streets, mingling with the buzz, and shouting of the tradesfolk on the main street. The Company pushed on and Lostoriel's grip on her bow tightened.

Bilbo nudged her in her side, "What happened here?"

Though he whispered, his voice boomed over the silent woods so that even Fili, Kili and Dwalin at the head of the column leant their ears to the conversation. Lostoriel opened her mouth to speak and was -in her most annoyed opinion- rudely interrupted.

"This was once one of the most vibrant trading villages in the Greenwood." Thorin answered in a hushed voice from behind and Lostoriel glanced at him in shock. Still of course, having to bite her cheek to resist the stinging remark she had already formulated for the Dwarf.

"Men, Elves and even Dwarves travelling through from the Iron Hills or Erebor would stop and trade or take rest here. The main street we're on used to be so crowded that you could barely hear yourself think over the din. And it lasted for many years, since before I or even Lostoriel was born. Years of carefully cultivated peace razed to the ground in a single day."

Lostoriel had been there when it had been destroyed. The air thick with smoke, the acrid scent of burning houses and the smell of death all around them. She took the next part of the tale, allowing Thorin to at least walk alongside Bilbo.

"It was my first patrol. We only got word of the orc attack after they set fire to the village. The orcs attacked in the middle of the day and their guards weren't prepared. It was a massacre in cold blood for the orcs took nothing else except for innocent lives. It took three Elven patrols to win the battle and even then, the casualties were too great to count. Since then no one has been back, except for those whose families were killed in the attack."

That day she had seen carnage beyond the expression of words and grief.

Through the gnarled trees the Company were beginning to spot the signs of an attack; rotting foundations of houses and disintegrating tarpaulin's hanging in drabs from above. The path widened enough for five to walk abreast and broke off into narrow side-streets that wound through the trees and the stone foundations of houses long since reclaimed by nature. Sign boards inscribed with flowing Elven script littered the floor, crumbling jars, pots, and chairs lay curled within the twisted roots of the trees. And silver ribbons of memory hanging listlessly from the trees.

"I did not think you remembered that tale." Their differences pushed aside, Lostoriel was genuinely impressed that Thorin even knew that they were in the correct place. Frankly, she thought that due to his new- found indifference for Elves that any tales she had shared with him would have been long forgotten.

The dwarf-king shrugged, a deep sadness in his eyes, "How could I forget this place? It is a place of hope. Do you not recall that you once brought me here when relations between our peoples were less…"?

Thorin paused, searching for the right word.

"Strained?" A ghost of a smirk pulled the corners of her lips as she diverted his question. Right now, Lostoriel thought was not the time to remind him that she didn't remember every day in her long life.

"I was going to say existent, but I'll take what optimism there is in these dreary woods."

"How can you say this is a place of hope, Thorin?" asked Bilbo, distraught as he looked between them both.

The dwarf and elf beside him were quiet for a long moment, neither quite sure of what to say. Finally, after several glances at Lostoriel-who gazed off into the distance with an expression that Thorin had seen on so many warrior's faces- it was Thorin who answered.

"Because after death Bilbo, there is always life that will strive to grow even in the direst of circumstances." As he spoke Thorin pointed to a bright, almost out of place, cerise and white vine of flowers that clung onto the bowl of a dying tree.

For a moment Lostoriel's unforgiving rage with Thorin subsided and she met his eyes as a friend. It was not often these days that he spoke so freely, or so upliftingly unless it was with his Dwarves. This was the Thorin she had befriended, this was the one with whom she had seen a hope for a harmonious future with their people. But this was also the Thorin whose heart she had broke and-

Out of the depths of her memory Lostoriel saw the village burning to the ground, felt the flames lick her skin and the screams of the dying echoing around her. Her breath came in shallow intakes. Her blood rushed through her body and she shoved her way to the front of the slow group.

"Come on," she hissed through her teeth, "we cannot linger here. The bridge is not far off from here."

* * *

"We found the bridge!" Bilbo announced, bringing the Company to a halt as the stone bridge lay before them.

"Oh, come on!" Lostoriel blew a strand of hair away from her eyes and glared at the non-existent bridge before them.

Of course, with their luck the only way across the damned river had to have been broken. She laughed humourlessly and took a sip of water from her canteen. Her people had undoubtedly been the cause of this destruction, she too would not want anyone or anything coming across the water from this far south.

Bilbo and Lostoriel pushed on through the fog and onto the ivy-covered bridge. The elf pinched her nose, gagging at the foul stench of decay that arose from the river.

She paused, the world swayed as if it were balanced on a scale, the air around her stagnant and thick, as if she were pushing through a wall. Tendrils of fog wrapped themselves around her legs and Lostoriel swatted it away, trusting in the unease that settled into her stomach. Her feet squelched on something thick and wet. Lostoriel looked down and raised an eyebrow, her boots were covered from heel to toe in oozing mud. So, this was why her feet felt like blocks of lead.

The water below looked so inviting, soft and grey- almost like Sunflower's fur- Lostoriel yawned loudly. If only she could just dip her feet in and maybe take a nap on the riverbank, after all she deserved one after their hours of walking. The elf leaned dangerously forward, answering the temptation of the soothing water below and she reached out-

A wave of warmth erupted from her chest and Lostoriel doubled over, holding her knees and gasping. The cotton wool that clouded her mind cleared and she suppressed a shout of shock- beneath her toes there was no stone, only a sheer drop into the thick, bubbling water below. The enchantment was too strong here, they had to find another way around.

Lostoriel stumbled backwards, her nimbleness leaving her for the fright that shook her body. That water had uncannily reminded her of the medicine a nurse had once tried to get her to take. She blanched at the thought of falling in. Gandalf hadn't said what would happen, nor had he told them of what danger lay beneath the bubbling, foul stench.

"We can try and swim it." Suggested Bofur, but Lostoriel and Thorin shook their heads.

"Didn't you hear what Gandalf said? A dark magic lies upon this forest, the water of this stream is enchanted."

You don't say, Lostoriel couldn't help but raise both her eyebrows at him, sharing a dubious look with Bilbo.

"Doesn't look very enchanting to me." Said Bofur in a concerningly slurred sing-song voice.

The Dwarves remained in a stupor, their eyes searching for another bridge or perhaps a path that led around the river or through it. Lostoriel moved away from Bilbo and onto higher ground so that she could get a better view of their options. There were no visible paths leading around the river, or at least none that thirteen Dwarves could easily use. They moved quickly, yes, but their stealth techniques left much to be desired.

Lostoriel scanned the forest from left to right and sighed, if she knew her father then the next bridge would be miles north and they didn't have the time to go searching.

She squinted into the pearly sunlight that burst through the massive vines that hung over the river. They looked passable, at least for an Elf or maybe a hobbit. Perhaps they could take the risk.

Lostoriel pushed her way through the stagnant group and leapt up onto the closest vine. Kili climbed onto the one beside the bridge and leant his weight onto it, his mind moving along the same lines as Lostoriel's.

It was sturdy enough, but only so. Lostoriel bounced on the vine, disliking the softness of the wood, but admiring the strength that they held. Each vine was at least as thick as Dwalin's biceps or perhaps his head-though she wasn't going to readily admit that to him- he already thought too much of his strength and she valued her head.

She slung her bow across her shoulder and squatted on the branch, balancing on the tips of her boots. These vines were unlike anything she had seen anywhere on Earth or Arda. They adapted remarkably well to the dying forest, Lostoriel shivered, a coldness running over her body. She hoped that there were no serpents lying in the tangle waiting for them.

"These vines look strong enough!" Called Kili over his shoulder, "We can make it through."

"Fili stop!" Growled Thorin from the other side of the group.

Lostoriel snorted and slapped a hand over her mouth to cover the wry smile that tugged its way onto her face. She caught Balin's eyes and the old dwarf winked impishly at her, they both knew that Thorin was aging and that there was no mistaking Fili for Kili, or the other way around. It wasn't the first time that this had happened on the quest. Lostoriel rose to her feet, he was either short-sighted and too stubborn to admit it or it was just old age. Frankly, she couldn't wait to tease him about it.

"We send the lightest first." He looked pointedly at Bilbo, who scrunched up his face and threw Thorin the dirtiest glare he could muster. And then at Lostoriel, whose smug smile died on her lips.

Elves were light-footed and Lostoriel was no exception, she knew that she could run across the twisted vines that swayed with her weight. She also knew-with begrudging acceptance-that no one with short-sightedness would want to make their way over a mess of vines that hung over an enchanted river.

"You want to go first?" she cheerfully asked Bilbo as he made his way over to her. He grumbled under his breath and Lostoriel's smile only widened at the colourful language that split from his lips. The Hobbit's glare melted into a smug smirk and he gave her a sweeping bow.

"Ladies first."

The elf glowered murderously at him, "Oh, so now you decide to be all polite and gentlemanly! Hobbits-"Lostoriel's words were lost to him as she bounded through the tangle, somehow halfway through before he could lay a foot on the first vine.

Not for the first time in her life, Lostoriel was grateful for the deep-set intuition inherited from her Silvan blood. The forest may be choking in foul magic, but her mind was clear and Lostoriel's limbs knew where to place themselves before her brain registered her movements. Her foot covered the width of the vine and Lostoriel paled, knowing that the Dwarves were going to struggle to balance. Lostoriel balanced with one foot on a vine, the other set in a natural loop that formed with another, thinner vine twisting over this one and the elf risked a peek below her feet and knew it was foolish the moment she did.

Behind her Bilbo flopped backwards, clinging to the vine for dear life like a sloth as his head bobbed inches above the water. And Lostoriel's world pulsated, the white leaves in the water swirled like the indigo brush strokes of Starry Night and she leaned forward. Her foot slipped free of the loop and Lostoriel grasped a thinner vine just in time to prevent herself from falling into the water.

She gasped for breath and shook her head. Something was not right about this. She felt the vine sway under Bilbo's weight as he rectified himself and Lostoriel knew that she had to keep moving. But the water ran gently over the rocks, carried the red and gold leaves down in the swirling current and she longed to dip her toes into its cool depths.

"Filig-nὶn, come now, you have to keep climbing! You're almost at the top!" Lostoriel's eyes fluttered shut closed as she listened to the sweet voice. She was in the forest when it was younger. Or perhaps she was younger, it explained why the trees bared down on her like giants. She looked down and her stomach lurched. The distance between her and the ground was dizzying and Lostoriel uncertainly shifted her small foot on the thin branch. The wind picked up and the tree danced to its rhythm which only made Lostoriel's heart pound against her chest.

"Lostoriel!" The brown-haired woman called up to her and a wave of comfort spread through her, "you can keep going! The tree will not let you fall!"

"Lostoriel!" then someone was shaking her, and the branch vibrated dangerously. "You stubborn…elf…Wake up!"

Her eyes flew open and she stared into the mildly annoyed, but mostly relieved hazel eyes of Bilbo Baggins. "Something's wrong…Here." His words were choked, and his cheeks flushed. "We have to go!"

"Right, yes. Sorry… I'm not…sure what happened." The slight slur in Lostoriel's voice made Bilbo frown and he pulled her up, gazing once over his shoulder to give the dwarves a nod to let them know that their elf was in no danger. Their relieved exclamations were lost in the distance and Lostoriel and Bilbo carried on.

Her leg muscles were jelly and her mind fuzzing grey. The leaf pendant warmed her chest and Lostoriel's mind cleared. This time she didn't look down to investigate and shakily leapt onto the next vine. Was it enchanted as well? Lostoriel braced herself for the next jump, the thick vine was at least five meters away, but she could cover that distance with ease. Gandalf had mentioned that it was her grandmother's, from her father's side, which meant that it had come from Valinor.

Lostoriel sailed clear of the vine, the air hissed passed her ears and she swore as her arms desperately flailed for a handhold and she caught her next purchase with a grunt. Concentrate! This is not the time to worry about jewelry, magic or not! For a moment she swung with the momentum of the swinging vine, letting her center of gravity balance her out.

From behind, Bilbo watched as Lostoriel, with rather annoying ease, scampered along the last of the thinner vines and reached the safety of solid ground with a resounding huff as she collapsed onto the ground.

"Watch out! The last one is a little loose!" She called to him, her hand pointing to the general direction of a clump of five different vines.

Eventually, after much struggle, Bilbo took the final leap from the last vine and screamed as he flung himself over the wide divide. He landed with a painful thud next to Lostoriel and remained with his nose inches away from the ground for several seconds. The hobbit shook a finger in the air and squeezed his eyes shut. Lostoriel would have asked him what was wrong had she the energy to do so, but the elf remained panting and reclined against the small staircase that led to the Elven Road.

"Something is…Not right!" He gasped and rolled over, shuffling backwards to get as far away from the river as he could and bumping into Lostoriel. "Something is not right at all! Stay where you are!"

This time Lostoriel nodded in agreement, "He's right! We'll-"

She swore as both her and Bilbo's faces dropped at the horror before them. The pair could only watch as thirteen, clumsy, magic-addled Dwarves twisted and scrambled their way across the tangle of vines. They yelled, swore, and muttered incoherently as they struggled across. For perhaps the first time, the elf finally understood why Dwarves preferred the safe, unmoving solidity of the ground as opposed to the fluidity of the trees. Lostoriel would have found it hilarious, had she not just almost fallen in.

Every time Nori lost his grip on one vine and had to leap onto another dwarf or another vine to find purchase, she winced. Every time Bifur stared blankly into the water she blanched and when Bombur yawned so widely that she could see his yellow teeth, Lostoriel knew that something was bound to go wrong. She couldn't explain why, but the churning in her stomach held no lie.

Thorin landed on solid ground, flat on his stubborn bottom with a resounding flop. He sat there catching his breath until Lostoriel stood over him with an outstretched arm. Thorin nodded his thanks and grasped her wrist, grunting as she pulled him up with one swift yank.

"Nice of you to join us." She grinned sloppily.

A long groan resonated from their right and slowly grew louder as whatever heavy creature stepped upon it snapped the branch in half. With the utmost calm, Thorin, Lostoriel and Bilbo turned towards the noise and took a collective, sharp breath.

There, just within the tree line stood the most elegant stag that any of them had ever seen. It stood tall, with wide, proud shoulders. The colour of pure snow reflected itself in its coat and its antlers towered over its body, knotted and twisted as if carved by the most delicate of Elven hands. As the stag studied them and them it, something rustled from behind the bushes and a smaller, but no less majestic doe cantered towards the stag.

They glowed with the shine of the heavens, so did Lostoriel, though she did not know it. The stag was the symbol of the ElvenKing and the doe of the Queen. These were no ordinary elks. The elf tentatively stepped forward, lowering her bow and head. From beneath her eyelashes Lostoriel saw the doe and stag do the same and she wanted nothing more than to run to the magical creatures. Some legends held that the stag and doe were the king and queen riding through their territory to ensure the peace between the Elves and woodland creatures, others that the stag and doe were the guardians of the forest and only made themselves known to the worthiest of WoodElves.

But that day Lostoriel and her companions were not worthy. For Thorin fished out an arrow from his quiver and brought his bow up. The string pulled back to his lip as he locked eyes with the stag, staring at it with all the fury he could muster as he released the string and the arrow cut through the air. But Thorin had misjudged the distance. The arrow sailed past both creatures and landed with a thud on the ground.

The stag and doe looked searchingly and with unsuppressed horror into Lostoriel's eyes and the elf whipped around. Glaring and radiating with rage at the dwarf who stood with not even the slightest ounce of resentment in his eyes.

"What the hell did you do that for?" She hissed and Thorin stepped back, his eyes wide with fear. He had never before seen Lostoriel so furious. Her nostrils flared, fire burned in her eyes and her jaw locked in such a way that Thorin swore that it was Thranduil who stood before him and not Lostoriel.

Bilbo's slurred voice cut in before he could answer, "You shouldn't have done that…Bad luck…"

"I don't believe in luck." Thorin turned away from Lostoriel and faced the Company. He could feel Lostoriel's eyes boring into him. "We make our own luck.

Just as Thorin spoke such brave words, Bombur-barely three meters away- yawned again and shook his head like a wet dog. Then, out of all thirteen dwarves, his eyes fluttered closed, his head rolled back, his body followed and a monstrous snore erupted from his mouth as he fell off to sleep, still hanging on the vine as if it were a hammock.

A collective exasperated sigh arose from the Company and Lostoriel dropped her face into her knees, swore for the third time. She smiled smugly at Thorin and flashed her brows, in an I-told-you-so manner.

"We sure as hell could use some of that luck now."

* * *

It had taken two hours and four coils of rope, but the Company had finally managed to create a make-shift stretcher out of thick branches and vines, tied with legendary Dwarven knots and hope that it wouldn't fall apart as they trudged through the forest.

It took six dwarves to carry him on the stretcher. And another two when they struggled to make it uphill. But they had made it and now as the welcomed sunlight faded through the leaves, the Company set Bombur down in the middle of the path and proceeded to throw themselves to the ground, rubbing their shoulders and complaining all the while. Bilbo, who did not sleep the previous night, collapsed into a snoring heap where he stood, not even bothering to say goodnight to anyone.

Thorin had been annoyingly persistent in wanting to keep up a strict marching pace. His desperation to reach the Mountain seeped through his carefully cultivated mask and began to concern Lostoriel and Balin. Neither could help but shiver at the thought of what Thorin was becoming.

Lostoriel removed her cloak and carefully laid it over his small frame, she wouldn't need it anyway. She tucked the cowl around his mop of unruly hair and smiled, somewhat wistfully. She envied Bilbo's ability to fall asleep wherever and whenever, especially tonight since Lostoriel doubted that she would be able to rest until she had deciphered that strange vision she had at the bridge.

"Rest well mellon-nὶn." She whispered, carefully setting aside his bags, and then moved off to sink against a nearby tree.

Lostoriel stretched out her legs with a weary sigh and set her bow upon her knees. Gandalf had been right- though she hated to admit it- about the enchantment working its way into her mind, playing tricks on her and planting seeds of confusion in her mind. She would need to be more careful, especially since Thorin had decidedly declared himself and the Company as enemies of the guardians of the forest. Really, that Dwarf's stupidity astounded her. She was surprised that he hadn't gotten himself killed as yet, but then again perhaps she was being too hard on him.

Lostoriel could practically feel the fear and uncertainty radiate off him. In every order for them to pick up the pace she sensed the urgency in his voice, but also the fear of failing, of entering a kingdom that drowned his father and his grandfather. The fear of what unmeasurable wealth and the uncertainty of the king that he would become once he bore the crown.

"Sometimes I think that my uncle really is trying to torture us." Fili sunk against the tree beside her, sighing gratefully as he plucked off his boots to sooth his aching feet.

"Trust me this is nothing."

The weary dwarf rubbed his arms to ease out the tension that had stiffened his muscles over the course of the day. Carrying Bombur on a stretcher through a maze of a forest was no joke. "You get to say that because you didn't have to lug him about all day."

"He does have a point." Kili threw himself down on Lostoriel's left and promptly fell off to sleep. His hanging head inching its way onto her shoulder, where Lostoriel knew a line of drool would soon begin falling. She raised an eyebrow, both content and ready to shove Kili away all at once.

"Tell me, is he always like this?"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it."

The pair lapsed into silence, watching Bofur and Dori rummage in their bags for what food they hadn't lost over the river. A flash of silver from Lostoriel's hand caught Fili's eyes and without asking he lifted her hand into the light. The ring caught the dying light, the tiny vine carved into it barely visible. His smiling face grew serious with a sadness that reached his eyes. Fili let go of her hand and sighed disheartened.

"Do you ever miss him?"

"Elrohir?"

He nodded and Lostoriel smiled wistfully. She missed Elrohir with all her heart, but she couldn't speak about him, or think about him without remembering that she had spent so long without him and that their stop in Imladris would possibly be the last time she'd see him. Perhaps ever. The thought sent tendrils of cold spiking through her heart.

"Everyday. Though I try not to think about it too much. If I did then I'd be halfway to Rivendell by now."

She watched as he gazed longingly to the west, or what she could only assume was the west. She understood how he felt. Being away from one's match was difficult, but knowing that one might never see them again was to bear the weight of the sun and to be blinded by the brightness of the pain of not having them by one's side.

"You're missing Aven aren't you?"

He hummed, "With every fiber of my being."

"You will see her again mellon-nin," Lostoriel squeezed his arm reassuringly, "do not despair. She loves you does she not? Aven does not sound like the type of girl to not wait."

"I'm going to ask her to marry me when we retake Erebor." He said with all the confidence that the young have when they have waltzed into love. "One day, in the far, far future, Mahal willing, she will rule by my side as the Queen Under the Mountain. But if we don't then I'll just buy a plot of land in Ered Luin and run a farm. Obviously, we'd have a cabin for Kili to stay in. And we can live in peace with animals roaming the fields and dwarflings running amok. Chasing the chickens and swimming in the river…" Fili's voice took on a wistful tone and trailed off into silence.

Beside him, Lostoriel could see his imagination running wild with the possibilities of a quiet life, one she knew that neither of them would ever have. She allowed a rare honest smile onto her face, "So the crown prince does not wish for the crown?"

"I didn't say that."

"Fair enough. Though I hope that one day you find such happiness Fili. You and her deserve a life filled with peace and love with each other."

"What about you? If you didn't have the responsibilities of the crown, how would you live?"

"Oh." She took her time considering her answer, "I would marry Elrohir, not now of course, but when the time is right. And we would live the most ordinarily mundane life possible. Maybe move away from the palace, away from the city life of Rivendell and into a small cabin in the forest. At Faelon's Falls. That'd be where we'd live. At the edge of the farmland, near the mountains. With no titles, or war or battle or responsibilities. And no more bloodshed. *We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright."

Fili sat there stunned for Lostoriel had never been so open with him before. That and it was almost unnerving to see her smile so giddily.

"What?" she asked, her voice rising in pitch.

The dwarf shook his head, smiling the entire time, "Nothing, it's just. I never pegged you as the romantic type, or as someone who would so easily renounce the throne. You're so focused and strong-willed and not to mention slightly terrifying."

"There is much that you don't know about me yet Fili." Lostoriel jested but was taken aback by Fili's honesty. "Truthfully, after living for so long being…Ordinary…I got addicted to that life of being unknown and living for myself and not for the protection or wellbeing of others. I did fight in many wars and battles, but now, being here and I've realised that a simple life is all I actually want. One side of being immortal is that I'll never actually inherit the throne. My father has ruled for over two thousand years and my brother will likely take his place, should he sail. But I won't and perhaps it'll be a blessing in disguise."

Lostoriel's voice trailed off into silence as Fili absorbed all she had said. Eventually as the moonlight struggled through the leaves and the firelight bounced off their golden hair, he asked, "You could live like that now y'know."

The elf shrugged and flashed him a wry smile, "I could, but something festers within the shadows of this world and I fear that it will grow and that before long the time for peaceful living will come to an end for us all."

For a moment Fili sat there stunned by the nihilistic turn in the conversation. Lostoriel noticed the hopeful light fading behind his eyes and instantly felt guilty. She hadn't meant to throw a veil over his dreams, but it was a reality that they faced and she knew that no one would be laying down their swords anytime soon.

"I didn't mean to rain on your parade Fili. I hope that you get to live a happy life, with or without the crown."

The Dwarf prince smiled sadly at her, knowing that what he wanted was only a dream that he would never see fulfilled. He had been born and bred to inherit the throne from Thorin one day and he knew that he would not abandon his people, his responsibility for his own desires.

"I know you didn't."

He supposed that after living for so long that one would grow weary of the life of a warrior. Fili did sympathise with her, perhaps immortality truly was not everything.

"I hope you get your mundane life, princess."

With that the dwarf and elf quietly observed their companions around them, chewing disappointedly on their hard rations of dried meat and fruit, unaware that Thorin had heard most of their conversation and sat crestfallen towards the edge of the camp where he kept watch. Dwalin planted himself at his side and the pair sat there in the silence, as Thorin's heart took yet another punch. There were some hurts of the past and present which time would never heal, ripping open again and again until there was nothing but hollow pain remained.

The night grew heavy around them the eyes of the forest began their scrutinising watch upon the Company. None of them would be resting tonight. And there, in the darkness something crept beneath the trees, barely disturbing the undergrowth as it waited and watched. Its eyes glowing like lamps and its breath misting in the cold.

Minutes turned into hours and hours into days and days into what stretched like millennia and the Elven Road wound through the forest like the springs of a jack-in-the-box.

"Air. I need air." Gloin gasped, his gaze darting from tree to tree as if some dark creature would pop out and attack them at any moment.

Lostoriel yelped as she stumbled over a rock and tumbled into Dori, who caught her before she could hit the ground. She straightened out her clothes and nodded her thanks to the smiling dwarf. It had been four days, or had it been five? Since Bombur had taken a nap over the Enchanted River and they were no further north than they had been when they first entered the forest. The days blurred into themselves, sunrises and sunsets became one in the same and Lostoriel couldn't tell which dwarf was which as they stumbled through heavy fogs of magic.

Oin came to a standstill and leaned heavily against Bifur, who struggled to keep the healer upright, "My head, it's spinning!"

The column came to an abrupt halt, all of them stumbling into each other like a line of toppling dominoes. Lostoriel swore as Bilbo, on his way to the ground, elbowed her in the ribs.

"Oh sorry!" He apologised as Lostoriel grabbed him before he could hit the ground.

"It's okay. You alright?"

The hobbit nodded and shook his head like a wet dog, trying to clear the fuzz that settled into his ears. Lostoriel let him go and pushed her way to the front of the column where Nori led the way. Thorin reached him just as she did, and the pair exchanged a worried glance.

He rested a hand on Nori's shoulder, "Nori, why have we stopped?"

The young dwarf did not answer immediately and stared at the way ahead as if a ghost danced before his eyes. "The path...it's disappeared!"

Lostoriel's eyes widened and her stomach lurched, for there was no way forward. The ground before them sloped down a sheer fifty -foot drop into a deep ravine. She gulped and whipped around to face Thorin, who shared the same horrified expression. "How did we lose the path? We've been heading East haven't we?"

"We have." Answered Nori, "But the sun disappeared and now-" He turned to Thorin, eyes wild and guilty, "I'm sorry I didn't realise…"

He expected anger but received sympathy instead. The forest had begun to play its cruel tricks on them and now they were lost. Thorin could not be angry, no, that would not help their situation at all. He shook his head and smiled, "It's not your fault Nori, it's this place."

"Find it." He turned to the Company, "All of you look. Look for the path!"

Grumbles and mutterings of annoyance fluttered through the Company as they spread out to look for the path. Their search only took them further into the brambles and thickets, stumbling blindly through the maze of trees and scaring off the woodland animals with their confused yelling. Even Lostoriel and Bilbo who had managed to stay somewhat sane struggled to walk in a straight line.

The elf was sure that she had been here before under the shade of a dead oak, she toed away the amber leaves and gasped as she uncovered a square of worn stone. This had to be it, there was no other path nearby and the grey stone looked exactly like that used on the Elven Road. She ambled along, pushing the deadfall aside with the butt of her bow as she went and moved further away from the dwarves with every step.

Lostoriel didn't look up as she ran along the path and if she did perhaps she would have realised that the heavy steps of the dwarves trampling everything in their wake grew softer and that the trees grew more thickly, as if they wanted her to fall into their bony grasps.

Whilst Lostoriel stumbled through the forest, her absence went unnoticed by the Dwarves and Bilbo who mindlessly rambled to each other as they moved further and further away from the Elven Road which lay on the other side of the ravine that they explored.

"Is there no end to this accursed forest?!" Thorin shouted to the sky as if the answer would fall from the trees. He leaned against a tree-trunk and yelled as he sunk into the silky threads of a spider's web. He shot up and clawed at his back in a futile attempt to rid himself of the threads that stuck to his hair and clothing.

"...Dwarves from the Blue Mountains, no less. This is exactly the same as mine." Bofur's words echoed to him and Thorin grimaced, recalling that Bofur had in fact dropped his tobacco pouch some time ago in the exact same spot that he now stood, holding it up for examination. He cursed and examined the footpath they had been following, the two trees that had grown into each other stood in the same place that he had seen it earlier.

"Lostoriel?" He called expecting to hear her irritated reply soon, but getting only silence in return. Thorin spun on his heels, his stomach somersaulting as he searched for her unruly hair. But there was nothing. She was nowhere to be found. A coldness enveloped him and Thorin called out her name, desperately picking apart the treetops in the hopes that she was perched somewhere in the gloom.

"Lostoriel! This is not the time for your tricks! Where are you?" His voice grew louder with every question and soon he turned a fiery gaze on the company. "Where is our elf!?"

Silence. Bilbo paled and gazed over to where he had last seen her hounding through the foliage like a sniffer dog, hoping to see a shock of blonde. But there was nothing but trees and grass and deadfall.

"Where did she go?" His question resonated through the woods and the dwarves set off into a panic looking for her.

"Balin, I thought she was with you last?" Thorin's blood pressure increased as his heart thudded against its cage and a frosty panic set into his bones, much the same as it had in the Goblin Tunnels.

Balin shook his head and pointed to where his brother stood, "I saw her last with Dwalin." Or at least he had thought it was her, it could've been Fili or a phantom of the woods for all he knew.

The dwarf king swore again and ran his hands over his face, "We must search for her. How is it that a woodelf can get lost in the forest?" He muttered tiredly.

Anything could happen to her here. Bandits wandering the trees, the spiders could have her trapped in their webs, or a starving wolf could see her as its next meal. Where was she?

He had lost her once and he wasn't going to let it happen again. In this place any manner of horror could befall her. Thorin flexed his grip on Orcrist to keep his hands from shaking. They may have been at odds with each other, but that did not mean he wished to see her hurt.

* * *

"Thorin?" asked Lostoriel into the wind, searching the cluttered woods around her for any sign of the company. "Bilbo? Ori?"

She gulped nervously, unaware of any other noise besides the rush of blood in her ears. "Dwalin! Nori! Where are you?" she called, blindly crashing through the undergrowth and alerting any creature within a fifty-mile radius of her location. "Anybody! Dori! Bofur!"

She screamed into the trees, slashing through vines of ivy and forget-me-nots with her sword , ignoring how its tendrils snagged her clothing and tore at her sleeves and face. "Come on! Now is not the time for you all to be quiet!"

Her steps turned from muffled to clicking and she looked down to find that she was on a path, "Fili! Kili!"

Her chest heaved as she caught her breath and tried to calm herself. This damned forest, of course she would get herself lost in here of all places. It was almost laughable. But where were the dwarves? When had she left them behind? And-

Something rustled in the bushes behind her. The hair on her back pricked up, and Lostoriel resisted the overwhelming urge to halt and turn around. Instead she continued breathing deeply and searching the trees, scanning everything from top to bottom as she turned in a slow circle. This way if anyone was watching they wouldn't know that she had heard them. A stout, brown bush shuddered to her left. Lostoriel brought up her bow and steadied her breathing as the air around the bush shimmered.

* * *

What cohesion and level headedness that existed amongst the dwarves had vanished as soon as they had lost the sun.

"The sun." Said Bilbo beneath the raised voices of the bickering Dwarves. The hobbit plucked at the spiderweb that had formed around the base of a tree. "We have to find the sun. Up there. We need to-"

An echoing thrum shuddered its way through the forest and Thorin spun round and glared at Bilbo. Their leader stood off to one side, ignoring his kinsmen who argued mindlessly. Bilbo shrugged apologetically and froze.

Whispers. Dozens of them, tangled and mixed into one another hissed through the air and the single web that Bilbo had strummed turned out to be just the beginning of a net of webs that stretched for miles.

"What?" Thorin looked up as he pushed himself away from the tree. The webs dramatically clothed the trees in sticky, white fabric that made the unease in Thorin's stomach grow. "What's that?"

The dwarves were shouting, yelling senselessly at one another, jostling, and shoving their way around each other. Kili shoved Bofur out the way, who bumped into Dwalin, who accidentally elbowed Gloin and then chaos erupted. Their cries carried through the trees and the whispering grew fervent as it travelled nearer to the fighting Company. Thorin listened intently, trying to gauge where the whisperers were.

Their watchers were too close and the dwarves were making too much noise, "Enough! Quiet! All of you! We're being watched."

Just as he reprimanded them, he noticed that their burglar was gone. Thorin's brows furrowed and he scanned over the dishevelled group, "Where is Bilbo?"

As one the dwarves frantically searched their immediate whereabouts, the whispering had stopped, and all was silent. A giant crack resonated through the forest and the trees waned and bent towards them as hundreds of eyes beamed down upon them. Scurrying towards them as if on the wind itself, knocking aside everything in its path.

Then, huge, bony legs pinned Thorin's arms to his sides as a hairy body brushed against his back. His heart raced, eyes wide and unblinking whilst his throat went dry. Thorin didn't dare move, he couldn't anyway, not with his hand being squashed under the furry legs of a ginormous, drooling, foul smelling spider. He struggled to breathe as its stinger touched his back.

"RUN!"

That was as all Thorin managed to yell before an entire hoard of nightmarish spiders descended upon them. Their high-pitched screaming, plate-sized glassy eyes and enormous pincers was all that Thorin saw before the world violently spun around him.

* * *

Thrraung! The noise echoed through the trees, like stretched tarpaulin shuddering in a strong wind. It rang through again and Lostoriel paled. That was not what leaves in the wind sounded like. Slowly, she turned her gaze upwards and gulped, "You've got to be joking."

There wrapped around the tree trunks and hanging from the branches like tinsel were thick, white, taut spider webs hung like fishing nets from the boughs. They covered every inch of bark and branch and were large enough to capture a horse and maybe an elf. Spiders. Giant, hairy spiders. Lostoriel shivered, her heart refused to pace itself and her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Through the dark the webs stretched on for miles, blanketing the bushes and the floor in a carpet of white.

"Calm down… Just breathe." The elf took stock of her rapidly deteriorating situation. If she ran west then the spiders would undeniably find her, if she ran south then she would be running straight into their traps, but the Company. Lostoriel's eyes widened as the terrible realisation hit her. The dwarves and Bilbo were somewhere in the forest depths, lost and unaware that they had all just become a spider's meal.

Something crashed through the bushes to her right and Lostoriel whipped around, an arrow already notched and aimed at the pearl white doe that Thorin had failed to shoot. She sucked in a shaky breath and lowered her bow, why did the doe appear now and to her of all elves?

The mesmerising creature bowed her head and Lostoriel did the same. Then without a word, as the trees began to crash around them and the harsh, menacing whispers of the spiders drew nearer, the doe bolted through the undergrowth. Lostoriel didn't waste another second and rushed after it, dodging falling branches and trees as her quarry grew far away.

Unbeknownst to the elf, the doe was not the only light shining in the shadows of the forest as they ran. Lostoriel shimmered like fairy dust in the sunlight and from her chest, a star rested against her skin.

Her gaze was fixated only on the animal that did not so much as blink whilst the elf picked her way over. Lostoriel looked directly into its eyes and halted on the spot. There was something so familiar about those marble sized, glassy eyes. She had stared into those amber orbs before.

"Filig-nìn." A voice echoed through her mind, from a forgotten memory. "This way my love..."

The doe threaded its way through the trees, constantly looking back at Lostoriel, checking that she followed. The crunching of leaves morphed into padded footfalls on stone and Lostoriel was back on the Elvenroad far from the spiders and the dwarves. The doe slowed to a canter and Lostoriel jogged.

What had felt like hours was mere minutes and when Lostoriel looked up and through the trees she could see the vast, towering doors of the palace.

Trees were unnaturally silent, as were the animals and for a moment Lostoriel 's feet and mouth were frozen. Warm heat emanated from where the leaf pendant hung from her neck and the trees seemed to constrict around her, as if drawing in a great breath.

It started as a breeze tickling her exposed ears, but soon the breeze turned into the wind and the wind into the merry greetings of the trees as it swarmed her mind. The elf was deaf to all else except for the flighty voices of the trees. She put her hands over her ears as the whirring voices of the trees took over her senses. The ground floated above her, the trees spun around her and Lostoriel struggled to breathe.

"Welcome daughter of the wood."

The words echoed through her mind as the leaves rustled above and the sweet voices of the trees rose in volume. Their greetings turned into song that burst with the very life of the forest itself. The rushing of the Forest River hissed in her ears, flowing through the ground and into her feet. Lostoriel released a great, shuddering breath. The Company long since forgotten. Glowing like a star through the daylight she couldn't help but laugh giddily. She felt the presence of every creature within the forest, of every fish within the river and insect crawling along and of every elf within beyond the border. Most of all Lostoriel felt alive.

Through the joy of the forest that consumed her, there was another presence that invaded hers. She could feel their distress. Their curiosity and excitement at her presence. So familiar and yet so foreign.

Then the palace doors flew open and a single, tall elf came running through. His crown glittering in the sun and his robes flowing around him as he mounted the bulky elk that came running out from the side of the stronghold. In a one swift motion he was on the elk, riding bareback, his silver hair flying in the wind. It was the King. Her father.

Lostoriel resisted the urge to call out to him. Something was amiss in the forest, she could feel it in her bones. The king couldn't find the dwarves. The dwarves!

Lostoriel blanched, she had left them all alone. Bickering, lost in the middle of the woods. She turned back to face the path she had come on and with the cold horror of realisation that she did not know the way back. But the trees would.

"Take me to them!" She commanded, knowing that the trees would listen. Her Silvan blood ensured that they would speak to her, but now was not the time for such thought.

"This way!" The trees hissed softly on the wind, their branches creaking and leaves rattling as they stretched towards the direction of the darkening woods.

A single, thick branch unfurled itself to the ground, beckoning Lostoriel to jump on. She hesitated , knowing that running through the trees in Imladris was one thing , but this, where the trees were alive was different. But a distant shout of distress blasted itself through the wind and Lostoriel hopped on the nearest branch without second thought. It had sounded distinctly like Bilbo's and she wasn't about to abandon her friends.

She bounded through the trees , her feet scampering across thick branches with only the confidence that a woodland creature could run with. Lostoriel chanced a glance to her right where her father rode like the wind, looking every so often in her direction. She knew that he had not seen her and if he had then he didn't recognise her. But still he followed not far behind, undeniably being assisted by the trees.

If he found the Dwarves then they would be imprisoned. She promised Thorin that she would get them to the mountain, even if that meant never seeing her father ever again. Sacrifices had to be made and oh how she loathed that she had to be the one to make them.

Screams filled the air, dozens of them, followed by the hissing of steel on steel and Lostoriel knew it was the dwarves. She whipped on her heels and lunged into the depths of the forest. The heavy enchantment choked her as she passed over the invisible border and the voices of the trees left her.

Her father still chased from behind and Lostoriel's mind worked overtime trying to find a way to evade him. There was a bog nearby that she could lead him to. The thick, gooey mud would have his stead stuck for hours, giving the Company enough time to escape North.

"I'm sorry Adar." Lostoriel whispered and took a sharp turn to the left, not needing to check on if Thranduil followed as the pounding of his elk's hooves grew closer.

"Show yourself" He called.

She didn't stop running when her heart stopped and started again. Instead Lostoriel sprinted with everything she had, zigzagging through the trees towards the foul, rotting stench of the bog. She couldn't stop now. She had a duty to the dwarves and Bilbo. She had a duty to Middle Earth to keep going.

Her father grew closer and Lostoriel prepared herself for the recklessness of her actions. Her muscles bunched up as she bent down and somersaulted from the highest branch of the tree and into the air, letting gravity pull her down. She spotted a high rock in the bog and aimed to fall onto it. Hopefully, her father would ride into the thick water and hopefully she wouldn't die.

Lostoriel landed without a sound on the smooth boulder, flicked up her long cowl and drew an arrow from her quiver. The sickly-sweet scent of decay reached her nose and she gagged; the smell was as foul as boiled cabbage. She looked up just in time to see a nearby branch and her father bursting through the treeline.

She inhaled deeply and brought up her bow, ignoring how her stomach twisted and pulled as she aimed a warning shot at the hooves of the elk. Lostoriel released her shot, it sailed through the air and landed with a squelch in the mud, inches away from the elk's hoof. But Thranduil and his stead barely flinched. Lostoriel already had another shot ready when he glowered at her.

From here his eyes were shards of ice, his nose flared indignantly, and he snarled at the mystery archer. He could tell from the manner that they held themselves and from their unnatural glow that they were Elven. There was something so familiar in the way that they held their bow, though he didn't know what. They were expertly skilled. No novice archer could fire a shot so close to their quarry without hitting it. Thranduil suppressed his rising fear. No one would know if he died here, not now anyway. They would find him in the next few days, dead in a bog. Just like his father. No, his glare deepened, he would not die his way.

"Lay down your bow! There is no need for bloodshed."

Lostoriel was glad that her face was hidden from his eyes, for she knew that she was red and that her fear swam openly in her eyes. She knew her father to be a kind, gentle ellon and a benevolent king. But in battle he was the sword itself, the iron ran through his veins and all his enemies feared and revered him. And now, as she stood, pierced by his withering glare Lostoriel had the urge to turn and run, as so many orcs had before her. Thranduil was unarmed, though that was an understatement, Lostoriel knew that he was more than capable of fighting without weaponry and she was more than thankful for the distance that the bubbling water put between them.

"Come now, you've had your fun. If you do not show yourself, you will leave me no choice."

So, he had a plan, Lostoriel knew that she couldn't shoot him, not even to incapacitate him. No, she was many things, but a Shakespearean tragedy and a…A kin-slayer was not one of them. But she had to escape, she had to find the Company and get them out of this place.

Lostoriel sucked in a deep, shaky breath and raised her bow. She slowly drew back her bowstring, the bow shook like a leaf in her hands and Lostoriel had to remind herself that he wouldn't know it was her and shove her nerves into the back of her mind. The fletching tickled her mouth and Lostoriel saw the arrow sailing past her father's hair and thudding into the tree behind him.

She released the quarry. Lostoriel didn't lower her hands, even as tears pricked at her eyes and her heart raced uncontrollably. She was going to die if it galloped any faster. She heard his gasp and saw him sway to the right. The arrow sailed passed and she leapt into the trees and ran with all she had. Biting down the sob that escaped from her lungs and turned her eyes to the end of the next branch.

Everything passed in a blur. But the forest was not silent. Screams filled the air, the hissing of metal on metal echoed up from below and Lostoriel heard the sweetest shout she had ever had the privilege to hear.

"Grab a leg!"

"Dwalin!" She yelled and readied herself to leap off the edge of this branch and then to the ground.

"Lass!" He shouted back followed by a manic laugh, "That you?"

Lostoriel lightly ran along the branch, almost giddy with joy at the sound of their shouting, "Yeah! Coming to you now!"

She reached the tip of the branch and stumbled back when the ugliest, most horrifying spider she had ever laid eyes on screeched and lunged at her. Its enormous pincers snapped at her and to her horror, "We kill it! Kill it now!"

"Uhmm, no thank you!" Lostoriel could have died then and there. She didn't like spiders and this one… This one spoke. The elf notched, aimed, and fired two shots before the spider had time to blink. Lostoriel hopped onto it as it fell into the air, crashing into webs and shattering branches as they went down. Lostoriel caught onto one of its legs and held on for dear life as the ground rapidly grew closer. She screamed as branches splintered under the weight of the spider and sticky layers of spider web covered her.

The spider broke her fall with a sickening crunch and Lostoriel leapt off it, landing on the ground with a thump and pulling out her sword with a hiss stabbed the spider that came scuttling towards her. Its high-pitched squeal filled the air. But the spider did not die.

From behind it a ferocious growl broke out and the spider drilled its legs into the ground. It was no use. Its shell flew backwards before its legs followed and it was torn in two. The spider fell under the weight of the furry creature and Lostoriel looked up to find a bloodied, wild wolf wagging its tail at her.

"Sunflower!" Lostoriel grinned, sheathing her sword and letting lose another two arrows within seconds of each other whilst the wolf ran over to her. The arrows hit the spider with a sickening crunch, and it fell where it stood. Dead. Sunflower brushed against her leg, leaving a trial of black blood and grass on her tights. The elf laughed, "So it was you stalking us!"

Sunflower barked eagerly and then growled, looking upwards as a horde of spiders descended upon them. A grizzly looking spider barely touched the ground before Lostoriel had her sword rammed up its soft underbelly and Sunflower chewed viciously at the exposed flesh where its head connected to the abdomen.

"Oi! Lostoriel! Where've you been?" Shouted Gloin, dropping a dislocated spider leg as green goo oozed from it.

"Long story!" Lostoriel grunted as she yanked her sword out of the spider and into the head of another as Fili slid under it, his twin-blades slicing it with the sickening sound of tearing flesh. It collapsed into a heap and she helped him, grimacing at the blood on his legs. "Good to see you Fili."

"Nice of you to join us!" He shouted as he and Nori finished off another spider. Fili stabbed it through the head and Nori had his axe embedded in its hard exo-skeleton.

"Couldn't let you have all the fun without me, now could I?" The elf switched her sword for her bow and notched an arrow to the string. Lostoriel shot the spider that scurried after Sunflower, who had already bitten it in several places. It screeched and fell lifeless to the ground, an arrow embedded in one of its eyes. "Come on girl!"

Sunflower obeyed and followed the elf as they ran through the chaos. Spiders leapt at the Company from all directions, snapping, grabbing and trying to sting them with their massive stingers that dripped with poison. The Dwarves hacked at the spiders with their heavy-headed axes, jumping high into the air and using each other as steps to leap and stick their blades into the spider's underbellies.

Lostoriel tugged her sword from one's head. A wind fluttered behind her and she whipped around and stabbed the spider as it reared up behind her. Her blade pierced through its heart and she tore it away. The blade came back slick with blood. For a moment, the battle lulled and Lostoriel took stock of the situation. Screams of dying spiders and furious dwarves filled the air, Dwalin spun in a vicious circle, his axes ripping through the spiders as they ran at him. All her companions were here, Fili and Kili fought off two spiders at once to one side and Dori, Ori and Bifur fiercely fought off another huge spider that had Balin in its grasp. The only person that was missing was Bilbo. But she had no more time to dwell on that as a spider leapt down from above.

"Where were you?" Asked Thorin as he ran up beside her, grinning like a madman.

"Not important," She looked him up and down and frowned. He was covered from head to toe in spider web, "Care to tell me about your new outfit?"

"Not important!" He shouted with a wry smile as the spider landed in front of them, screaming incoherently about how it wanted to eat them.

Lostoriel nodded to it, "Care to give me a lift?"

Thorin nodded and bent down whilst Lostoriel took off at a run. Leapt onto Thorin's back with one foot and propelled herself onto the spider's back. She yelled as she drove her sword through its hard shell and into its head and brought her dagger down into the side of its ugly face. On the ground, Thorin had impaled it with Orcrist and shoved it to the side as the elf jumped down and hit the ground with a roll. Rising with the throw of her dagger in the direction of the spider that nabbed at Bifur.

"Bifur! Duck!" She shouted, not waiting to see if he heard her before throwing her blade at the spider. It stabbed it in the abdomen with a sickening crunch. The spider screeched and spun around to grab her, but Lostoriel managed to twist out of the way in time to miss its scuttling legs. The elf slashed out and cut it across its soft underbelly. The spider screeched as it fell to the ground, convulsing and then seeing black. A second spider leapt onto its fallen brother and lashed out at the elf, catching her unawares and breaking through her defense. Its sharp legs tore at her clothes and Lostoriel struggled to raise her sword and stab it.

She swore as it snapped at her neck and managed to punch it in the soft flesh under its head. The spider stood dazed for a second and then lunged at her, its stinger flying wildly through the air and Losteoriel screamed. The razor- sharp stinger ripped through the fabric of her shirt as the spider and slashed across her stomach. Pain flared across her midriff and Lostoriel barely registered the blood that began to seep through her shirt. Lostoriel stumbled backwards, her sword clattering to the ground as her midriff throbbed.

The spider hissed in victory, but it did not last. The last thing it heard was a low rumbling that grew into a skin-crawling growl and long teeth biting deep into its flesh before the furious glare of a dwarf met its eyes and the darkness met it.

A too quiet silence fell over the clearing as the Company stood panting, watching, and waiting for the next spider to come. Bifur spun around startled as Lostoriel stood above the carcass, splattered in black and red blood. He let out a string of Khuzdul that Lostoriel struggled to comprehend. She looked up and into his worried eyes and regretted the action as the trees pulsated around her. She collapsed onto Bifur, who held her up from under her shoulder.

Then Dwalin was at her side, sharing a dire look with Bifur as he saw the amount of blood pouring from her stomach. Already Lostoriel paled, and her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled for breath. He moved her arm away from her stomach and grimaced as more blood poured out and he saw bright, scarlet flesh.

Dwalin's face tilted to one side and so did the trees. But Bifur and Dwalin grabbed her before she could fall to the ground. Everything burned and Lostoriel knew that she didn't have long before she lost too much blood.

"I'm…Fine…" She panted, swatting Dwalin's hand away from her wound and her eyes darting around the clearing in search of their burglar. "Where's… Bilbo?"

"You're bleeding out and what you're worried about is Bilbo?" Asked Dwalin, rolling his eyes as he tore away a long strip of his shirt and tied it around the wound, they could fret about the cleanliness of it later on. For now all he wanted was to stop her from swaying like a tree and to stop the bleeding. "This is going to hurt."

And he wasn't joking. Lostoriel cursed through her teeth as Dwalin shifted her into his side and he wrapped a tight arm around her stomach and her everything erupted in pain.

"Dammit! I'm fine!"

She stumbled forward, clearly not fine.

"We're clear!" Thorin shouted as he came running towards them and skidded to a stop. He gasped and looked between Dwalin and Lostoriel for answers. "What happened? Are you alright?"

Lostoriel glared at him and flexed her fingers, a strange tingling sensation washed over them. "Of course, I'm not alright!" She snapped. "No time to worry about me, let's go!"

He nodded and led the dwarves away from where they were first ambushed. But continued to look over his shoulder at the stumbling elf.

Lostoriel stumbled along blindly, trying not to double over and vomit, Dwalin wouldn't appreciate that. She hated that she had been so foolish and Lostoriel hated that she had to be helped along like some damsel in distress.

"Come on! Almost there!" Encouraged Dwalin with a pained smile as he adjusted his grip on her. She could feel his thumping heartbeat against her throbbing chest and almost felt comforted by his concern. "Don't you dare die on me lass. Don't you dare."

"I won't." He really was being overly dramatic.

They made it into the next clearing and for a moment everything went silent.

Lostoriel heard it before they saw it. She threw off Dwalin's arm, grabbed his axe from his other hand and plunged towards where the bulky creature leapt from the trees and slid down from its own web. The elf shoved her way through the group and lifted her arm up to throw the blade. And her entire side flared up in pain, but she pushed it back and released the blade. It hissed through the air and glided over the spider's hard shell. She swore as it embedded itself a tree trunk and a new sound reached all their ears.

The air exploded with the vicious hissing of arrows cutting through the air and hitting their targets, the shrill screams of falling spiders and the shouts of dozens of WoodElves sprinting on the branches. The Dwarves and Lostoriel could do nothing more than stand and watch in amazement as the Elves leapt from branch to branch, running lightly across the thinnest as if they were part of the trees themselves. Flashes of auburn and brown swarmed them from above and one shock of blonde ignited from the top of the spider's web. The elf spun down the web one- handed, his hair a halo of light as he leapt from the web. An arrow in hand as he slid across the ground, slicing two spiders down their underbellies as he went and finally stabbing the one poised to attack the dwarves and sliding to a halt on his knees, bringing his bow up with an arrow already on the string. Aimed directly at Thorin's forehead.

"Do not think I will not kill you Dwarf," he spat as at least twenty other elves appeared from the trees, surrounding them with twenty arrows pointed at the dwarfs and Lostoriel. "It would be my pleasure."

Lostoriel gritted her teeth, she had had enough of almost dying for one day. The elf wasted no time. She stumbled over to the newcomer; her stinging wound and blood- soaked clothes forgotten as she swayed drunkenly.

Lostoriel held the tip of her sword under his chin, unaware of the slur in her voice, nor the foam spilling out from her mouth. "One more move and it will be the last thing you do muindor."

The following series of events Lostoriel would not remember as a tsunami of pain tore through her stomach, her knees buckled, and the forest spun around her. Everything went black and Lostoriel crumpled into his arms.


	21. The Pride and Prejudice

He had been a fool. A woefully, ignorant fool to have fled the council chamber in such a flurry of chaos.

The forest had called to him and within it a presence that shook the trees at their roots. Like the waters of an ocean he had never seen being tugged back to the shore and in his mind Thranduil had seen the grey woods, trees blotting out the sun and the forest twisting around him as a girl shrouded in grey ran blindly through the mist. He had known for sure this time that his daughter was alive. He could feel her vibrant presence bounce against the calmness of the forest. There was no denying the quiet yet terrible hurricane that followed her wherever she went and Thranduil had fled the council chamber ready to scour the entire forest to find her.

He yanked the yellow-fletched arrow from the tree with a grunt and studied the broadhead through misted eyes. The arrowhead had been fashioned from iron, thin but sharp teeth had been painstakingly carved into the metal; creating a head that would snag onto the enemy's flesh causing blinding pain if they tried to pull it out. The yellow fletching had been wound in a crisscrossing pattern that Thranduil immediately recognized as the same pattern that his warriors used.

Whoever had attempted to kill him was one of the Eldar. More importantly they were from his kingdom.

If they wanted the throne, they could have taken his life there and then. But they had purposefully misdirected their shot. Whoever this was playing a cruel game with him. Three arrows had been embedded at his feet by an unknown elf, unwilling to kill him, but cocky enough to evade and lure him to a bog. Thranduil plucked the other two arrows from the mud, his knuckles paling from his grip. A target board had been painted onto his back from the first day the Silvan people had seen his father as their leader, ever since he placed that crown upon his head Thranduil had known that he would either die in duty of the crown, or because he bore it.

Over his long years there had been a handful of attempts on his life, his personality- no doubt- had much to do with them. Thranduil was well aware of the fact that many people did not like him and due to his indifferent attitude to well- everything- he was sure that anyone would try to take him out.

He needed to send word to Legolas and Renieth for their immediate return to the stronghold. The crown prince and princess would be next and he had sent them into the darkest reaches of the forest to destroy that infernal spider's nest.

"So, it is true then." He whispered to himself and glanced helplessly to his elk who padded over to him. It had not been his Lostoriel who wore his mother's necklace. It was not her who pulled at his heart each time he gazed East. And it was- no, surely it could not have been her who had shot at him? And yet-

Thranduil shuddered at the thought. He refused to believe that any of his children would kill him. Lostoriel was impulsive and hot-headed, but she was no kin-slayer. That was if it had been her in the bog.

His elk butted Thranduil's arm, his large dark eyes staring up at him with what Thranduil swore was sympathy. the elk puffed warm air through his nostrils and Thranduil stroked his snout, "I thought I knew for certain that it was her Barahon. I was sure of it…How could I have been so blatantly foolish? I have blind to anything else but this..."

His long, muddied robes fluttered in the wind that drove cold tears across his face, "Through Imladris nor Caras Galadhon has she passed for no word has been sent…" Thranduil leant his head against Barahon's, heaving a shuddering sigh of defeat. He had been searching for her for months now, half of his guard had been scouring every inch of the forest, spending weeks at a time patrolling every border, sending word out to their allies of a missing elf and still finding nothing. Though their friendship had become strained over these passed decades he knew that Elrond would not withhold such a thing from him. Surely he would not?

Barahon snorted warm air into his face and grunted softly, the elf fell further onto him. But Thranduil refused to accept defeat, to give in to the hopelessness that washed over him. He flickered out like a flame caught in the wind, his song dimmed until silence filled him. And Thranduil shook, bile rising to his throat, he felt thin and hollow like a dying tree before it fell.

What he had felt that night of the wind was a fool's hope. Lostoriel was dead. Taken at the hands of a dragon. She was not coming back.

And yet it had felt so real. The joy sprung up within him, dancing, giddy joy like the leaves on the wind and he had known it was her. And as far as he knew the enchantment on the necklace would not fail him.

"Thranduil?" A familiar voice called out to him, but he ignored them.

Lostoriel was dead. And he had raised Legolas's hopes, he had encouraged him to believe that his sister lived. And oh, how he regretted that he had.

"What am I to tell him?" he asked into the wind.

"I have not the answer you seek." came the low rumble of Astordil's voice from behind, followed by the muffled steps of her horse. Her hand clasped his shoulder and Thranduil gasped down a strangled sob. His legs shook beneath him, Astordil's steady hand on his back was the only thing holding him upright. "What on earth possessed you to flee from the council chambers in such a hurry? You scared us half-way to death!"

"I have failed us all. I have failed her."

Astordil moved to his side and gently turned him towards her, but Thranduil pulled away. He refused to meet her dark eyes and let his head hang in shame.

"What do you mean mellon-nin?" She whispered, looking over his head to where a tall figure upon a stocky horse cantered towards them.

Still Thranduil would not look at her and the dark-haired elf grew worried. Over the passed few months he had been growing quieter, either locking himself away in his study or chasing after what he firmly believed was his daughter. Lostoriel. Who had become her daughter. Astordil had firmly believed in Thranduil's intuition, she had ever since they were elflings. However, just this once, a part of her heart refused to believe him. She found the courage to ask, "Thranduil?"

"I was so sure that it was her Astordil. I could feel it in my bones, in my heart. I led you all astray… Once before she ran and I could not stop her from-" He sucked in a shuddering breath and the helplessness upon his face tugged at Astordil's heart. "What if this time I could have done things differently?"

"Nonsense Thranduil. You have no reason to apologise. You have done no such thing." Astordil embraced him fiercely. She would have smirked at the fact that he was still an entire head shorter than her had it not been for the way his body shook and her shoulder dampened. She knew that the fight he had with Lostoriel still plagued his mind, that no matter how hard Thranduil tried he could not force their vicious words out of his mind. For it haunted him constantly and the regret ate at him.

"You know what you felt. Do not let yourself believe otherwise." Though Astordil was on the verge of tears her low voice broke no argument, "Just because we have not yet found her does not mean that you were wrong. Nor does it mean that she is not out there somewhere. We will find her Thranduil."

"She's right you know." The squelch of Merenon's horse plucking its way through the bog met their ears as a lean, short shadow emerged from the greyness. Finally, they made it to solid ground and the lean elf slid off the massive mare, leaving the reins tied in a knot on the saddle. His long hair swished passed his scarred face as he paced towards them, his gait disrupted by a slight limp on his right.

He raised his eyebrows in question at Astordil, feeling her distress within himself. She shook her head sadly and Merenon's stomach dropped. He laid a firm hand on Thranduil's shoulder, "You did what was right by us all. Including Lostoriel. Had you had that experience, felt that instinct and ignored it then perhaps there would be something to apologise for." This time Thranduil did turn around and Merenon inhaled sharply. For his face was gaunt, his eyes hollow and the gentle glow that usually emanated around him had disappeared. Instinctively, Merenon grabbed his forearm and clasped firmly, like he had many times on the battle field.

"Just because our search has found us nothing yet does not mean that it is over. You have not failed us mellon-nin. You have not failed Lostoriel. There is yet hope. Gweston."

For a moment Thranduil stood there dumbfounded, he half-expected Galion to leap from the trees an engulf him in another hug. Thankfully, that did not happen, though Thranduil did wonder where his old friend was. It was unusual for Galion to remain behind whilst the three of them were out. Finally, he shook his head and met both their determined gazes.

"Hannon le. I mean it." Thranduil clasped Merenon's forearm and then Astordil's, bringing their foreheads to meet his. They had been at his side for millennia and he was grateful that they would remain so until death take them, or Valinor greet them.

"Planning to shoot some wild boar with those?" Asked Merenon a dark cloud brewing upon his face as eyed out the three arrows still clasped in Thanduil's shaking hand.

"Thranduil?" Astordil snagged one from his grasp and studied it, a hand already reaching for her own quiver, "Where did you get these?"

"Someone tried to shoot me." He said calmly. Too calmly.

"What?" They exclaimed in unison, Merenon's hands flying to his sword and Astordil's to her bow. Thranduil prepared himself for the storm that he had unleashed.

"What do you mean that someone tried to shoot you? Why didn't you mention this to us first?" Scolded Merenon, the hairs on his body standing on end and his eyes scanning the trees surrounding them.

Astordil shot a dark glare at him and Thranduil almost felt sorry for whoever it was that tried to shoot him. Anyone at the receiving end of that scowl would be wise to run. "You're damn lucky that Galion is not here or he would be dragging you by your ears back to the fortress!"

Astordil whistled lowly and their horses and Thranduil's elk formed a barrier around them with Thranduil- much to his disdain- pushed into the middle. He scowled miserably, he hated it when they treated him like an elfling. However he knew that they were doing their job and that he would do the same for them both.

"To be precise," he said dryly, "they didn't necessarily shoot me. They shot passed me.

"Doesn't mean you're getting out the circle Thranduil." Mereron didn't bother to turn around and flicked Thranduil's sword into his hands.

"Who was this unfortunate soul who tried to kill you?" Asked Astordil.

A long silence followed, broken by the metallic hiss of him drawing his blade, "I think it may have been an elf."

"What do you mean an elf?" Exclaimed Astordil, her ears growing red, "None would dare-"

Thranduil heaved a great sigh, feeling wearier than he had in a century, "There are still some who do not see me fit to be king."

"But this..." Merenon stuttered, unwilling to comprehend what he had been told, "It is no longer the First Age Thranduil. Kin do not turn upon kin. We need to find out who did this and why they want you dead."

"Why they want you dead should not be that difficult to decipher."

They both turned warily to Astordil, who had a wry smirk upon her round face. Thranduil, throughout his long life had successfully irked and infuriated everything and everyone without so much as trying. The list of reasons why anyone would want him dead was in fact endless.

"I sometimes wonder how reckless you must think I am." The king frowned half-heartedly at his grinning companions, "I have been known to be kind and well-behaved, if you must know."

"Really?" Merenon raised a brow as he mounted his horse, "I do recall Celeborn almost starting a war with your father over your foul attitude towards him and his wife."

Thranduil swung up onto Barahon, "He deserved it."

"Right. Before you two carry on," Astordil gave them a meaningful look that broke no room for argument, "Galion must be alerted. Secondly, we need to find Legolas and Renieth now, I'll go get them, their patrol can't be too far from here. Whoever this is may be after them next and they're too exposed here in the forest."

"I'll ride with Thranduil back to the palace." Merenon hopped off his mare and handed the reins to Astordil. "Take Tallagor with you. Legolas and Renieth can ride back on her."

He squeezed her hand, his dark eyes meeting hers. He quelled the rising anxiety in his stomach with a soft, but strained smile. Every time Astordil travelled through the forest he feared that it would be the last time he would see her. "Be safe out there."

"I always am." She squeezed his hand back as he helped her mount her own horse. "Make sure you come back home." Astordil grinned at them both, "Both of you."

Astordil nudged her knees into her horses' sides and shot off through the forest with Tallagor galloping behind her. Both horses synchronised their footfalls so that, to the untrained ear, it sounded like only one horse rode through the woods.

Once her figure had melted into the greyness, Thranduil clicked his tongue twice and Barahon broke into a run, leaving Merenon to cling onto Thranduil for dear life. He had never become accustomed to riding an elk and Thranduil took advantage of that each time he rode with his friend. The king nudged his toe into Barahon's belly, and the elk swerved nauseatingly to the right, Merenon cursed, no doubt now green in the face. Thranduil lurched as his friend nearly suffocated him with how tightly he held him around the waist. Still, that didn't stop him from smirking.

"Merenon?"

"Don't try and act all innocent with me." Grumbled Merenon, he swore that the bulking elk beneath them was out to kill him. He swallowed the bile that rose in his chest, "What did you want to ask?"

"I'm not acting-Nevermind." Thranduil resisted the urge to tease him and wisely so, since Merenon might be the reason he died today. "You and Astor left the council, right? So, who is chairing the meeting?"

"Oh..." Merenon sniffed, turning a concerning shade of green. "Have I ever told you how much I hate this animal of yours?"

"Stop trying to change the topic."

"We left Galion in charge."

Thranduil's stomach flipped and he nudged his knees into Barahon's side, urging the horse to gallop faster. Though Galion was the politest and most diplomatic elf in his kingdom, around the Lords and Ladies of the Council he turned into a fire-breathing ogre. There was a reason why none of his council members liked Galion.

"I suggest we hurry so that you can save what's left of your council. And so that we can get off his accursed beast."

Both Thranduil and Barahon snorted amusedly.

* * *

The last shouts of battle died away and a heavy silence fell over the clearing. All eyes turned towards the two elves in the centre, one rapidly turning scarlet and the other paling as the drapes of death settled around her.

"No, no, no. You stay with me now!" Exclaimed Legolas as he pressed his hands into the wound to staunch the blood that steadily streamed from it. The girl- the one that had fallen upon him- lay trembling on the ground, the pool of blood seeped into her shirt and her pants and had covered Legolas up to his elbows. Her skin paled quickly and though she was unconscious, Legolas could see the shallowing rise and fall of her chest. Which meant that the poison was already in her blood stream.

With one hand he pressed down on her wound, hoping to quell the bleeding and with the other felt the fluttering of her pulse beneath his fingertips. Legolas swore, it was barely there and time was running out.

"Faelon!" He screamed, not daring to rip his gaze away from the face below him in case he should look away and she should disappear. His clothes were stained, his heart bleeding the same, though he did not know it. He had not seen such a face since she-

A shadow fell over him. "Let me help you."

He jumped at the gruffness of the voice and in his confusion barely registered that it was a dwarf of all people who did not bother to wait for his consent and had a strip of cloth held over her wound. Dark tattoos were etched across his large knuckles in green runes in a language he no longer understood.

"There you are lass. You'll be alright…" Though the words were not meant for him, Legolas took heart and was galvanised into action.

"No! Wait!" His hands flew out and stopped the dwarf before he could tie the wound again. His head flew up and into the dark eyes of the dwarf. More tattoos covered his balding head, a crocked, disfigured nose rested in the centre of his plump face and flared at the nostrils as a scowl crept upon his face.

"What are you doing?" Growled Dwalin, We have to stop the bleeding."

"Hold it against the wound, but do not tie it." The words tumbled awkwardly from his mouth, he looked from the dwarf's hands to the girl's stomach, "Hurry now, the poison is already in her blood. Do you have any wine on you? Or any ale?"

"No, we lost our bags in the forest."

The elf cursed and Dwalin blushed, he had not heard such words since the days of his grandfather. He sighed, running a hand across his forehead and smudging Lostoriel's blood across it, "Faelon! Hurry up!"

Whilst he shouted Dwalin got to work, careful to not press too hard and cause her more pain. The elf tore some cloth away from his own shirt and held it against the wound. He must have thrown as much pressure as he could upon her wound for Lostoriel squirmed under his touch.

"Come on Lostoriel. You can't leave us… not now." The dwarf whispered under his breath, hoping that the elf would not hear him.

He should have known better than to utter her name. Legolas's head shot up, he could not believe what he had heard. His sister was dead. His father believed her alive and the girl lying between them was evidence enough that she truly was alive. And yet, Legolas could not bring himself to believe it. Her face seemed gaunter than he remembered, scars that he had not seen before ran down her cheeks. His blood froze as he caught sight of her cropped hair. No elf willingly shortened their hair, none would do such a thing, not unless they were forced to. Could it be that these dwarves cut it for her? That they insulted her in such a way? And if they did, why was this one trying to save her?

"Faelon where are you?" Exclaimed Legolas as the cloth quickly became soaked in red. He looked up and blanched, for there in the middle of the clearing stood his closest friend being held at bay by a vicious, snarling wolf that stood guard over the dying elf. Beside him, the dwarf cursed loudly with words Legolas had only ever heard from Merenon.

"Legolas?" Came Faelon's unsteady voice. His skin pulled from the tight braid that swayed at his waist, a satchel rested upon his hip beside a small axe. To Dwalin's eyes, he seemed to small in stature to wield it, in fact those scrawny ankles that peeked out from his tights, looked like they would snap in the wind. However, in those narrow shoulders he could see courage and from the manner in which he held himself he recognised the quiet determination of a warrior.

"Don't stare directly at it!" Shouted Legolas.

Faelon, who had already averted his gaze glared at him. He respected Legolas as his prince and his captain. He was Faelon's closest friend, he loved him like a brother. But sometimes Faelon wished he could grab Legolas by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. Perhaps, for Legolas's sake, it was better that a wolf stood between them. "Got any more obvious advice?"

A slow guttural rumble resonated through the silence and Sunflower stepped forward menacingly, her hackles raised and her eyes dark, daring Faelon to take another step forward. All around them came the creaking of wood as the elves drew their bows back, ready to shoot. The elves of the Greenwood did not enjoy killing the creatures of the forest, but if attacked and threatened they would kill mercifully. For they were as much a woodland creature as any animal.

"Please don't shoot her!" Shouted Ori, finally finding his voice under the icy gaze of a she-elf, "She means you no harm."

Spittle flew from the wolf's mouth, her paws dug deep into the ground and Faelon knew that he would have to risk his life to save the girl. It was his job to do so. Being a healer came with a cost. He drew himself up, standing tall like a birch tree in winter and spoke softly to the wolf. To the dwarves his voice was like a lullaby. The elven tongue rolled smoothly around his words, soft and entrancing. If the trees could speak, this is what they would sound like.

But no amount of soothing language could sway the wolf for she stepped forward, teeth and motive bared.

From his spot on the floor, Legolas inhaled sharply. All too aware of the fact that Lostoriel…Yes…Lostoriel's life hung in the balance. "Faelon. Do not move!" He shouted and scanned the clearing for the one elf who would be able to tame the wolf. He spotted her besides the dwarves, her hood thrown over her head and her bow gleaming in the dimness. He opened his mouth to shout-

"Sunflower come here! Now!" They all jumped at the sheer volume of his shout. A raven-haired dwarf stepped out of the throng, hands shaking, his heart pounding. The years had aged his etched themselves upon his face and had streaked his hair grey and black.

Sunflower whined softly, taking her eyes off Faelon, and looking pleadingly at the dwarf. He stepped forward; his hands held out in front of him. Why he was trying to save an elf he didn't know. And why he even bothered with the wolf was beyond his comprehension. He never truly liked Sunflower. But they would not be able to help Lostoriel if the healer died. All he wanted to do was get to her and beg her to stay alive. Over Dwalin's shoulder he spotted her pale face and the red halo which pooled around her.

"Come here girl." Thorin held his breath as he slowly sunk to his knees, behind him he heard Fili and Kili scream out to him, asking him to stop. But he ignored them.

"Thorin no! Are you mad?" Balin grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. Thorin yelped as he squeezed his shoulder. For an old dwarf, Balin was surprisingly strong.

A tall shadow enveloped them and they both looked up into the shrouded face of a she-elf. She flicked back her hood, revealing a hard expression upon a round, caramel face. "Let him go. He may yet help her."

Balin's hand fell away and he openly gaped at her. He had heard rumours and legends of a tribe of elves that lived in the mountains in Mirkwood, but never had he come face to face with one in his long life.

Thorin on the other hand was phased by none of this and steadied himself on the ground. He spread his arms wide, and kept his voice calm, "Come here Sunflower, everything is alright girl." He cooed.

Sunflower reluctantly turned away from the healer, and Thorin hastily nodded to where Lostoriel lay. The elf got the message and with a nod of thanks, sprinted over to his patient.

"Come on Sunflower…" Finally, whining softly, Sunflower bounded over to Thorin, her head and tail held low. She butted her head against his chest and twisted round until she sat snugly on top of him. It took everything within him not to topple over, Sunflower did not realise how big and heavy she was. She moaned and whined softly. "It's alright." Thorin petted her thick coat and she took this as a sign to bolt away from him and to Lostoriel's side.

He followed swiftly, knowing that he should have been there for her from the start. If they lost Lostoriel now, then there was little hope for their quest. Though he had first doubted that she would be of any assistance to them at the start of their quest, she provided an invaluable vat of knowledge, and he was sure that it would kill him if he lost her a second time.

"Ren!" Called the healer, "You! Come here!" Who the dark-haired healer called for Thorin did not realise until Dwalin shouted his name and pulled him forward by the arm. He stumbled forward and landed dumbly on his knees. Below him lay Lostoriel and his hands started to shake again. Her brows were knitted into tight knots and a stack of soaked cloth lay near her face. She had lost too much blood.

"What do you need me to do?" he found himself asking whilst the elf called Ren settled at Lostoriel's feet, looking as pale as Lostoriel did.

"Hold her down by the shoulders and do not let go. This is going to burn." Said Faelon as he unstopped the leather waterskin with his teeth and spat the cork out. He sniffed the contents to ensure that it was the disinfecting concoction that Bronaduin was infamous for using. "Everyone ready?"

The she-elf gritted her teeth and Thorin did not miss the confusion and recognition that briefly flashed upon her face. "As we'll ever be 'Lon."

"Right then." Faelon wasted no more time and let the cool liquid fall over her wound, gritting his teeth in preparation for what was to come.

The moment the liquid touched Lostoriel's wound, a violent shiver washed over her body and her eyes flew open followed by a scream that pierced their eardrums. She struggled to shake off the hands holding her down by the shoulders and kicked at whoever held down her feet. But it was no use, whoever held her legs down was too strong for her.

"Lie still, it will be over soon." She nearly fainted again when she heard him speak. Lostoriel's heart pounded as she looked up to see her Legolas- her brother- smiling warmly at her with tears racing down his cheeks.

"Legolas." She whispered and reached out to cusp his cheek. She flashed him a pained smile, but her gaze seemed far away, as if she were dreaming. "Goh..Goheno nin muindor."

"There is nothing to forgive, Lostoriel." Her hand brushed his face and Legolas could not believe that this was truly happening. He still felt the freshness of her loss as if it were yesterday. He had searched and mourned and learnt to live without his little sister. And yet here she was, with her soft presence brushing against his. "I have never been more overjoyed to see anyone in my life."

His cold tears ran down her wrist, and Lostoriel no longer had the strength to hold her arm up any longer. She hissed through gritted teeth as Faelon soothed her wound with a salve that burned worse than dragon-fire. "Are…you… trying to…kill me?"

She asked through bursts of air, glaring at her old friend who she could not believe knelt before her.

He grinned, shaking his head, and Lostoriel felt as if nothing had changed. "Maybe." Faelon unravelled a roll of bandages, "This is going to hurt."

She watched as if in a dream as he spoke to the person holding her shoulders down, "Lift her up a little please."

"Aye." Came his rumbling voice. It was Thorin.

Relief spread across her body. She tried to turn her head to great him and perhaps it was best that she did not see the anguish upon his face.

Someone laughed to her left and she knew it was Dwalin, "About time you got up lass." He caught her eye and winked mischievously.

If they were here, then Bilbo must surely be with them. Having lost him during the skirmish she wanted to see that he was alive and unharmed. "Where is B-"

"Save your strength Lostoriel." Thorin cut her off suspiciously hastily, a note of warning in his voice. "We're all here and alright."

Lostoriel wanted to ask him why he was being so blatantly rude, but her throat closed around her voice and the edges of her vision blurred. If only she could hold on for just a bit longer, if only to listen to the lighter voice who spoke soothingly beside Legolas. Their face came into view. The sunlight caught her ebony hair, surrounding her in a halo of gold and reds that reflected in her eyes. And a smile that she knew from her childhood was the last thing she saw before the darkness took her once again.

"What's happening? Why is she unconscious again?" Asked Thorin, worry dripping off every fibre of his being. His eyes were gaunt with fear, and tears gathered in them like rainclouds.

A dwarf that would shed tears for an elf. Such a thing had not been heard of since the Dark Days and the three elves shared a look between themselves whilst Faelon tied off the bandage. "The poison from the spider has gotten into her blood, we don't have much time left. We must get her to Bronaduion now."

"Right." Renieth dusted her hands on her cloak and rose, ignoring the dwarves who stared at her with unbridled curiosity.

Thorin and Dwalin could not help staring. For the elf that stood over them was unlike any they had seen before. She strode with the confidence and authority of royalty, tresses of the night sky were twisted in intricate braids that fell down her back, skin almost the colour of the rich earth.

"…Tauriel and Rhaweth can lead the dwarves back to the fortress." Thorin barely registered what Reneith was saying as the blonde elf gently cradled Lostoriel to his chest and stood with a grunt. He bit the inside of his cheek as he watched her eyes loll backwards and her breathing falter for just a moment. That was all it took for his chest to tighten and the bottom of his heart to fall. Beside him, Dwalin mumbled a prayer and clasped his shoulder tightly.

"She will be alright Thorin."

Silence rang through the clearing whilst Legolas and Faelon prepared to leave. Muffled, hurried hoof-falls carried through the air, growing louder as they drew near, all clearing rang with the creaking of bows being drawn and all the elves vaulted to the sound. Cries of shock rose from the elves near the trees as they parted way for a rider atop a grey stallion that burst into the clearing, followed by a chestnut mare.

The elf's dark hair streamed behind her, along with her long, silver robes as she dismounted and in one stride was already bowing before the prince, taking a short moment to catch her breath. "Legolas hir-nin" she then bowed to the strange elf behind him, "Renieth brethil."

Renieth came rushing forward, followed by another captain with hair of fire. "What has happened Astordil?"

Astordil inhaled sharply, wearily studying the bedraggled troop of Dwarves who were still surrounded by several warriors. The tranquil mask she wore turned sour and a foul scowl graced her sharp features. "There has been an attempt on the King's life."

Muffled gasps and exclamations rose from elves and dwarves alike. All except this harbinger of ill news seemed stunned.

"What has happened?" Asked the red head.

"We're not entirely sure Tauriel. There is an assassin within these woods." She turned to the You and Legolas need to return to the palace immediately. There is no time for delay." She clicked her tongue and the mare plodded to her side, "You and Legolas may ride on Merenon's horse. We have little time-"

As if seeing a ghost, she fell pale at the sight of Lostoriel in the arms of Legolas. She reached out tentatively, like reaching out to touch smoke, she feared that if she touched the ghost in his arms that it may disappear. "By the Valar…" She whispered, "how can this be?"

"There is no time for explanations now Astordil." Said Renieth, "The King, is he?"

Legolas stepped forward, worry etched across his brows, "My father? Is he alright? Is he hurt? Where is he?"

"He is fine. Merenon rides with him to the stronghold as we speak. You shall hear the tale from him once we're back in the palace. Let's go. Tauriel and Rhaweth can lead your troops back to the stronghold." Astordil mounted her horse, "I can carry her back."

Like transferring a child from one set of arms to the next, Legolas took the utmost care to ensure that he did not jostle Lostoriel as he set her in Astordil's careful grasp. The wind rushed in and he gasped as the blood upon his shirt turned cold. "Be careful with her Astor."

"I will Legolas. Never doubt that."

"What must we do with the Dwarves?" Asked Tauriel, drawing Astordil away from Legolas's grey face and the weight that had settled upon the prince.

"Arrest them." Renieth glared murderously at Thorin and swung up onto the horse, "We must not overlook any possibilities. Faelon, take the troop and follow behind us. Cover our tracks."

Legolas leapt up behind her, briefly grasping Faelon's forearm before the warrior nodded solemnly and disappeared into the trees, followed by several of their companions. The clearing erupted into chaos. The elves descended upon the dwarves like carrion to the dead and the dwarves grumbled and cursed as they were shoved, stripped off their weaponry and had their hands forcibly bound behind their backs. The Elves of Mirkwood had proved Beorn correct. They truly were wilder and more dangerous than any elf in Rivendell.

Astordil glared at them, satisfied that they were captured, and fearing for what their presence in her forest might bring. There was more than a fair chance that the dwarves had travelled this far East to assassinate Thranduil. For the river of hatred ran deep on both sides. If she were in their position, perhaps she too would seek revenge, but not in this way. And as she rode away, tendrils of ice froze her heart when she noticed arrows, too large for a dwarf to use and fletched with bright, yellow feathers lying where a thick pool of blood had gathered.

Lostoriel moaned painfully as the horse leapt over a fallen tree and jolted the elf on the saddle. Astordil snapped out of her stupor and pushed Lostoriel up against her, feeling as if she were in a dream as the girl who she had seen grow and die rested upon her.

Astordil grimaced and shifted as a wave of dread spread through her. She thought back to the arrows that she had seen lying where Lostoriel had undeniably lain, to the pool of blood and the beautiful bow she had spotted lying disregarded.

Though she did not want to believe it, a part of her knew that the king's failed assassin- his daughter-lay unconscious in her arms.

* * *

"I'll distract them, you push that stick-like one over the side." Hissed Dwalin to Gloin from where he stumbled beside what he thought was a hairless cat of an elf. The elven guard pocked him with the butt of his bow and scowled viciously.

"I'd have you half drowned before you could even try naugrim. So, shut up!" His hair whipped Dwalin across the face as he shoved him forward, causing Ori, who was forced to walk right at the front of the group, to stumble and knock into Fili. Dwalin growled, his hands balled tightly in fists that he was furiously prepared to swing at the elf and hopefully knock a few teeth from his mouth. From the front of the group, led by the elf named Tauriel, Thorin fiercely shook his head, giving Dwalin a meaningful stare. Shut your mouth and we will survive.

He passed into the palace, scowling at every elf he saw, striding with his shoulders rolled back, for he refused to cower before-what he called- the pesky pixies.

Though all this, in part, was a façade and he knew it. All the dwarves knew it. Their elf was gone. Their hobbit disappeared. Sunflower had been muzzled and dragged off into the depths of the forest.

And they were captured and taken as prisoners into the most impenetrable dungeons this far west of Erebor. Lostoriel had warned them of this possibility and now neither she nor Bilbo were here to save them from their terrible predicament. None of them knew where Bilbo was, nor how he had disappeared. One moment he had been dropping them through the trees like unwanted potatoes and the next they heard screaming, as if he were falling and then nothing. It filed them all with dread to know that their burglar, their Bilbo, was alone in the unkind forest at the mercy of the foul beasts that prowled the forest floor. And it crushed them to know that they could do nothing. That they had to leave him to his own devices whilst they negotiated for their freedom and hoped that Bilbo and Lostoriel would make it out alive. Wherever they were.

The palace was one massive cave that stretched on as far as the eye could see. There seemed to be no top, nor a visible bottom. Light, pure, sunlight poured in from all directions, bouncing off the waterfalls and shallow streams that crawled their way through the heights and depths of the kingdom. Pillars hewn from the red stone held up the invisible ceiling with that were carved in the likeness of the trees, staircases wound and twisted their way under and over archways of dizzying heights. Tendrils of flowers fought their way onto the patterned walls, which were flanked with tapestries and murals of the forest and of their warriors, each one telling a different story. The fortress was enormous, and yet it brought comfort to all who entered it. It was almost as if the forest had moved into the fortress and hardened itself to living stone.

The guard frowned at Dwalin, scrunching his nose as if the dwarf stank like a bog. But he paid the guard no heed, his mind was set on ensuring that Thorin didn't get them all executed and fretting over whether Lostoriel was still alive or not. Though they had stemmed the bleeding from her wound, the unthinkable could have transpired between her being saved and them reaching the palace alive. She could be dead. Lying cold on a slab, or still bleeding out. Dwalin did not know which he wanted to believe.

The elf, as much as it pained him to admit, had become something of a friend to him, he would even go so far as to say that Lostoriel had become kin. At least for him. Balin was all he had. His brother had been married, a long time ago, but his wife had died before they could bear any children. And Dwalin, well, he had sworn love and alliance to his sword and kingdom, and none other. Though he had a deep hatred for the Elves, she had begun to chip away at his prejudices. Lostoriel had shown them that the elves were not all the same. Now he saw the stubborn, kind elf as a niece of sorts, maybe even a younger sister. And the idea of her dying and him not being able to save her weighed him down like the weight of Erebor resting on his shoulders.

The dwarves were led along several causeways beside waterfalls, and bridges that overlooked heights that did not intimidate them, for underground the dwarves were as surefooted as blind moles. Though they were being taken further into the heart of the kingdom it did not occur to any of them to put an end to their grumbling and complaining. They were exhausted, emotionally wrought and by now starving, which meant that the brashness of their voices compensated for the emptiness in their bellies.

They came to a halt on the steps below the grand throne of the elven king, who stood on the wide dais, surrounded by several guards and in deep, hushed conversation with two other elves. Judging from the soft intensity and rapidness of their speech he gathered that something was desperately wrong. The tall, lean one who stood facing the dwarves sent an icy shiver down Thorin's back. His face was scarred with the reminders of passed battle wounds, there was something disconcerting with the way those dark eyes followed him, as if he could see right through the dwarf and read his every thought. Thorin recognised his stance. He was a warrior, an ancient one from the tales that Thorin had been told as a child. This one he knew that he could not cross.

The mousey- haired elf on the other hand reminded him of Balin in a foul mood. He was no warrior, instead of armour, long grey robes adorned him. He raised his voice and was instantly hushed by the others; his name was Galion and he seemed to be extremely irritated with his three companions. He jabbed a finger at the king and spat out a string of furious Elvish.

Thorin could barely believe what he had just seen. No one, besides maybe a dwarf, would dare to speak to the famed ElvenKing in such a manner. If they did, then they were either arrogant or stupid, for Thranduil's fiery temper was renowned across the continent.

Finally, Galion spun on his heel and stormed off, muttering angrily beneath his breath. And two pairs of eyes turned to scrutinise their newest visitors. The king turned to the warrior, uttered a dismissal and the elf marched away and quickly disappeared into the depths of the kingdom.

The red head who led the dwarves waited patiently as Thranduil glided up the staircase and gracefully rested upon his throne. His crimson cloak flowed over the wooden chair and behind him rested beautifully carved antlers that stretched out like wings. Upon his platinum hair sat a crown of twigs and berries, for autumn had come upon his realm.

Thorin did not bother to bow his head in deference. He and Thranduil used to be civil around one another. After their last encounter he had to be escorted from the halls by several guards in order to keep the benevolent king away from him. For Thorin had brought news of Lostoriel's death and Thranduil, even after a hundred years, had not forgotten nor had he forgiven him. One look at the hard, ancient face of the king told him that. There upon his throne he seemed frozen in time.

* * *

"I will ask you again," The Elven King, biting down an exasperated sigh, sunk deeper into his throne, "what business have you passing through my woods? Why is it that you have travelled so close to my lands?"

Dwalin, who stood closest to the Thorin grumbled miserably about lopping King Thranduil's head off. He was sure that Dwalin had eagerly remembered that the elves could hear every word he muttered, and it took everything within Thorin to not elbow him in the gut.

The conversation had begun civilly enough. The ElvenKing had welcomed them into his halls, though welcome was an understatement. Thranduil was suspicious of their purpose, he had first greeted them as his friends, although none of their bonds had been cut. Food and lodgings had not been so readily offered as it had been in Rivendell and for once they were all happy about it. For Thorin had never forgotten the abandonment of the elves, and Thranduil had never forgiven him for Lostoriel's death.

Thorin Oakenshield turned an annoyed smile in the direction of the king, "Like I told you, we were starving. We had been searching for food and drink and solace from the creatures that plague your forsaken woods."

"Please, your Majesty," pleaded the dwarf who was no doubt an elder amongst his companions with his wrinkled skin and white hair. He stepped behind Thorin and held both his hands before the king, "We speak the truth. We lost our luggage in the forest when the spider's attacked us, and even before then our stores had been running low. We meant no harm to any of your people. And now all we ask is for safe passage through your kingdom."

"And again, I will ask you. What purpose have you travelling through my realm?"

No answer came, save for several pairs of eyes that pointedly turned away from him.

Thranduil had sighed and gritted his teeth. He had spent the last few hours riding through the forest like a madman over a figment of his weary mind, had escaped from an assassin and now had to deal with stubborn, irrational dwarves who refused to divulge any information to him of their purpose in his lands. He had more important issues to deal with than this.

Now that he thought about it, Thranduil knew that he could not release them from his custody. Not whilst someone was out to kill him and his family.

The Elven King studied them once more. They all varied in age, two had hair of silver and another was barely an adult. They were covered in spiderwebs, dirt stained their clothing, and he had no doubt that there was some truth to their story- that they had not eaten in a number of days and were left helpless by the spiders. As much as the world painted him as one, Thranduil was not a cruel ruler.

"I do not wish to keep you within my halls as much as you do not wish to tarry here." He rose from his throne, seeming impassive and frigid as the winter. "However, there is an assassin within this forest and until we know who they are and what purpose they have behind their actions- I am afraid that you must remain here in our custody."

"Tauriel, Rhaweth," He now addressed the two guards, dutifully ignoring the disgruntled, furious shouts and insults from the dwarves. He raised a brow as a particularly colourful insult reached his ears, "Take them to the dungeons. And ensure that they are sufficiently fed and sheltered from the autumn cold."

Thranduil then glared at Thorin and pointed a long finger in his direction, "Leave him."

* * *

Thorin had never desired so much to throw Thranduil off the platform than at the start of their conversation. He was not shocked that Thranduil had so easily saw through his fickle insults and the partial lies that they had spun in answer to the king's endless barrage of questions. Much to Thorin's disdain, the king guessed their true purpose within a minute, though Thorin was sure that he knew their true purpose the moment Thranduil had seen his face.

All he desired was to leave the dreaded kingdom. Firstly, he needed to ensure that Lostoriel was alive, then they somehow needed to find Bilbo who was out there, in the dangerous woods, alone and then they needed to find a way out of here. He had sworn to protect his friends. And now they were either locked away, dying, or lost. He had failed them. And he was in the process of failing his people, one word at a time.

Now alone with the king, years of pent-up hate and resentment ploughed their way to the surface. Thranduil casually paced around the round dais, seemingly unconcerned about Thorin, and only about what he could extract from the dwarf.

"There are gems in the mountain that I too desire. White gems of pure starlight. I offer you my help." The ElvenKing bowed almost haughtily, a smug smile tugging at his lips as he lowered his head. In respect or mockery Thorin did not know.

He did know of which gems Thranduil spoke. The necklace of Eryn Galen had been mined in the halls of his ancestors nearly two thousand years ago and had been bought by the Elvenking as a gift for his wife. The stones had been discovered in the depths of the mountain, below the catacombs. They were no bigger than the tip of his little finger, and even when unrefined and unpolished they shone with all the brightness of every star in the night sky. According to the legend, the ElvenKing had offered to pay handsomely for the gems that he dubbed to be the eyes of the heavens, and many centuries later the Dwarves had refused to gift him an heirloom of his house.

Thorin had expected some sort of liaison of gold or gems from the mountain in exchange for their safe passage, though he had expected something more grandiose than this. Rage boiled in his blood and Thorin had to swallow his pride and anger, knowing that selling a part of his birth-right was the only option they had to see the sunlight again.

The dwarf smirked as he inclined his head towards the towering elf. "I am listening."

He took in Thranduil's once black boots as the king took a circuit of the grand platform before his throne, they were caked in a thick layer of mud and grass, clearly the ElvenKing had been out prancing about in his forest. Now that he noticed the mud, he also saw several burs that stuck to his pants and his heart sunk, could it be that-

"I will let you go, if you but return what is mine."

Thranduil's silken voice nabbed him from his speculations. The ElvenKing raised both brows in surprise. And Thorin hated that smug smile that he wore with pride. As if he knew that what he offered was unequivocally obvious and enriching for them both. Thranduil would eventually receive his bounty and Thorin would rule rightfully as King Under the Mountain upon the throne of his forefathers.

The offer tempting, so tempting that Thorin considered striking a bargain with the elf. He smirked, slightly unbelieving that Thranduil attempted to reason with him.

"A favour for a favour."

The Elven King nodded solemnly, yet the sly smirk did not leave his face, "You have my word. One king to another."

One king to another. If Thorin had ever heard a snake speak it was now. Had Thranduil seen the fire in his eyes, then perhaps he would reconsider his initial offer. The Elves of Mirkwood had nothing that they could offer and nothing that Thorin would accept as fair payment in turn for their safe passage. No offer of safety or treasure could serve as retribution for the inaction of the Elves. Of the cold-hearted abandonment of the ElvenKing. If it had not been for him, then his father and brother and people would still be alive. His people would have a home. Yes, the offer was tempting, but Thorin was not an idiot.

"I would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to honour his word should the end of all days be upon us!" Thorin shouted from the dais, hearing the satisfying ring of his voice travelling through the depths of the kingdom so that each elf may hear of the atrocities of the ElvenKing. Fury laced his voice and fire bubbled within his breast, like a volcano preparing to explode.

"You lack all honour!" Thorin spun round and jabbed a finger at Thranduil, who recoiled the moment Thorin began shouting. Outraged and shocked that anyone besides Galion would dare to do so before him. "I've seen how you treat your friends, how you treat your own kin."

Thorin marched to the centre of the dais, rage fuelling him, radiating so strongly off him that Thranduil could feel it buzzing in the air.

"We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help, but you turned your back. You turned a blind eye to the suffering of your own daughter. You drove her away, do you not remember?" Thorin's throat squeezed his voice, a thick lump sat on his voice and he had to inhale deeply and push it down, lest he wept before Thranduil. The moment passed and rage washed over him once more. With every word it bubbled within him, reaching for the surface, making his hands shake uncontrollably and allowed grief and resentment to run amok.

"Whilst she fought for her life…Whilst she fought for our lives, you abanadoned her to death by flame! You turned away from her suffering! From the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!"

His nostrils flared like billowing rain clouds as his voice boomed across the open cavern for all to hear. He felt no shame, nor any regret as his fury spilled over.

"Imrid amrad ursul!"

Thranduil leapt before him and jutted his face inches away from Thorin's. The dwarf did not cringe as Thranduil's warm breath settled on his nose, not even when he was enveloped by dread and fear, nor when, in his mind, he saw a ginormous dragon, black as the night and terrible as the worst of the summer storms descend in a ball of fire.

"Do not talk to me of dragon fire! I know its wrath and ruin." Hissed Thranduil. And like that night around the campfire with Lostoriel, Thranduil's skin rippled and then peeled back. Revealing dark, burned tendons, muscle, and bone, some of which had still not healed and ran red with blood. His left eye turned milky white, revealing a blindness that Thranduil's magic hid well. Even his ear had been scarred beyond recognition. Thorin's heart sunk, fear pricked at his bones and he knew that Thranduil had no idea just how much he and his daughter's true forms looked alike.

As Thranduil spoke, Thorin was faced with the horror of having to watch as the tendons and muscles of Thranduil's jaw and cheek rippled with every word. His voice reverberated with a subtle pained tone that Thorin had heard many times from Lostoriel when her wounds flared and burned. He had no doubt that Thranduil was experiencing the same pain now.

"I have faced the great serpents of the north. I know its wrath and ruin. If it were not for you and your weak-willed grandfather, then perhaps my daughter would be alive! If it were not for you then she would not have burned in dragon fire!

He drew away like a snake recoiling after it bit its victim and his skin wrapped over his wounds, "Your kingdom was beyond hope. I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen. Just as Lostoriel would not listen to me about you and your kind. I did not-"

Abandon her. Thranduil spun around and marched gracefully up the stairs. Once he reached the top as he stood and glared at the lowly dwarf below him, completely indifferent to Thorin.

"You are just like him. Foolish. Hopeless." Thranduil threw himself upon his throne, his robes falling around him like rain. Upon his throne of wood and berry both terror and grandeur settled upon his shoulders. With a soft wave of the hand two guards grabbed Thorin and marched him backwards from the dais, kicking and growling the entire time.

"Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait!"

* * *

She awoke to deep throbbing around her stomach, stinging on the surface and pinching down her muscles with every breath. She struggled to open her eyes; a lofty weight pinned her down like someone had thrown the heaviest of winter blankets over her body that she struggled to kick off. Lostoriel tried to move her hands to ease the pain and found with a yelp of surprise as her head snapped up that she was tied to a chair.

Her eyes flew open. The heavy drapes of sleep forgotten as Lostoriel struggled against the fabric around her wrists. The thick loops burned her skin and her back and bottom ached, now stiff from being tied to the rigid wooden chair. Lostoriel attempted to move her legs, but it was of no use for they too were tied tightly to the legs of the chair.

She gasped through gritted teeth as the sharpness rush of pins and needles erupted from her ankles. Her throat burned like the desert sand and the nearby trickling of water from the darkness taunted her. Judging from the echo of trickling waterflow, Lostoriel knew that she was deep underground.

She groaned in pain as she pushed herself up by the elbows to rip the fabric away from the wood. It was futile. The fabric would not budge. Her entire torso screamed in pain and she was left panting like a sick dog. Beyond the rush of blood in her ears, the calm hush of distant waterfalls reverberated through the stone. The dim light burned into her eyes and the small room came into focus. To her left there was nothing, except endless darkness that stretched deep into the earth. Before her stood a pale wall of iron stone and to her right, she could just make out the fringes of a staircase.

Again, Lostoriel struggled against her bonds. She cursed as it burned into her already sensitive skin, the burning tingled down the back of her hand and under her fingernails, as if she clawed at bedsheets with blunt nails.

Her mind raced with questions as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Where was she? Where were the dwarves? Where was Bilbo? Had he made it out alive? Was he still out there, alone and at the mercy of the woods? Had they all survived?

She didn't remember much from before she collapsed. Lostoriel recalled being slashed by the spider, she remembered Dwalin pulling her towards safety and then seeing her brother-

"I would not struggle if I were you." A deep voice resonated through the dimness. The hair across her body stood on end as the too calm voice spoke from the dark. "Those bonds are Elven made, the more you move the tighter they will become."

"Who are you? Where…am I?" Her voice caught itself in the back of her throat and she coughed violently when the air rasped against her dry throat. With every cough came a flash of blinding pain and Lostoriel struggled not to gasp like a dying bird each time.

The hiss of metal upon leather rang through the cavern and the light bounced off the long blade that her interrogator held between them. She watched as the blade slashed through the air and as he ran his hand along the sharp side.

"A beautiful blade is it not?" He asked almost gleefully. He examined the ruins upon the blade, his face serene. Almost non-plussed about her current situation. "This is of Noldorian make. Forged in the fires of Imladris. Light, but powerful, balanced perfectly. A pity that it's stolen is it not?"

Lostoriel leaned forward, glaring with all her might at him, "It was given to me... As a gift."

"A gift you say?" she could hear his eyebrow arching under the slyness of his voice.

"We stole nothing." Lostoriel resisted the overpowering urge to tell him off for the implications of his words. She was rash and impulsive, but she was no thief. Glorfindel, who now seemed a world away, had gifted her that sword as a parting gift between friends. "That too was given to me. You can ask Mithrandir himself."

Without warning her capture whipped through the air and she jumped back, the chair teetering on two legs before settling as a pale face thrusted itself inches away from hers. Dark eyes catlike eyes glowed in the dark. His warm breath wafted against her skin. The pale light outlined his crooked nose that spoke of years of fighting and highlighted the sharp, jagged lines that stretched from his ear to his neck. His ebony hair fell like dusk around him and Lostoriel was taken back to her childhood, to the harrowing tales of monsters and ghouls that lurked in the hollows of the palace. Lostoriel glared at the ellon before her.

Fear bubbled in the back of her mind, but she was no longer an elfling fleeing down the passageway with a lantern grasped firmly in trembling hands. Her cheek twitched as her flesh burned beneath her skin. And inhaled sharply, not daring to move as the cold, sharpness of a blade pressed against her throat.

"I mean you," she rasped, her throat burning. "I mean… You no harm. Lay do…down your weap…on and we can-"

"I will not be taking orders from you. Traitor." He spat the word as if it were poison upon his lips. Those hard eyes bore into her skull like a tiger as it leaned on its prey. "Not when you have held your sword to our Ernil and Aran."

The sword pressed closer to her throat and his warm breath touched her face. Lostoriel grimaced and attempted to pull away from him. Her heart raced and she knew that he could hear it pound against her bones. She had not meant to let it go this far.

"Do not attempt to feign innocence for we have found your cloak that you hid behind like a coward when you shot at our king." The blade slid away from her throat and he slowly circled the chair; she could feel his eyes burn into her skull. "Did you aim to miss? Or are you just a poor shot?" He swooped down so that he was mere centimetres away from her cheek, "Surely someone of your skill should have killed him? Or is this part of your plan with those naugrim?"

The ellon sheathed his blade and raised a thick brow at her. Those eyes were filled with nothing but fury whilst Lostoriel glared at him. Her mind raced as she tried to scratch away the words from the back of her throat and force them into her mouth. She knew his voice. From a time long passed and it resonated with the chiming of golden bells in her memory. If only she could recall his name, then perhaps she could negotiate a way out of her predicament.

"I did not intend on killing either of them. And I am no traitor. Please you must believe me!" she pleaded with him through gritted teeth. That was at least, half the truth. She had not meant to kill anyone, much less her family. Those arrows were meant to distract her father, to ward him away from the Dwarves and allow them time to escape.

"The dwarves were merely my travelling companions. They meant no harm to anyone. They are gentle folk. Foul-mouthed, stinking, and temperamental. But they are no killers." Lostoriel was not going to sell them out, nor was she going to get them killed by her own kin. She had to convince this soldier of their innocence, even if it meant her being imprisoned for all eternity. "All we wanted to do was cross through the forest unnoticed and unharmed. We did not mean to put anyone in danger, even though we walked into it ourselves."

Perhaps there had been a choice when Legolas and his troop had surrounded them. She could have negotiated with them, she should have attempted to get them to lower their weapons, but he had an arrow ready to split Thorin's head open and they had been surrounded by at least fifty elves. Lostoriel knew that she was dying, so naturally the less diplomatic strategy had to be used. Perhaps it had not been the wisest of ideas.

The elf hesitated for a moment, as if contemplating the effectiveness of his next move. "Why should I take your word? Why does a lone elleth travel with a wolf and thirteen dwarves who see it fit to trample into our lands, disturb our woods and keep you as their on-hand assassin?" He fiddled with something in his hands as he spoke.

"They are travelling to the Iron Hills and I to this forest. They thought it best that I lead them through."

"What reason do I have to believe you?"

"None other than the fact that I speak the truth."

The object caught the light in a flash of gold and landed with a light hiss as it collapsed on his palms. He gathered it around his fingers and held it up to the light, staring at it indifferently, as if he could simply chuck it away and it would have no consequence on him.

"Recognise this?"

As the object caught the light Lostoriel inhaled too sharply and too quickly. She instantly regretted her action.

There, dangling in the dark was her grandmother's necklace and beside the beautiful leaf, hung a ring. Amber licked at its sides, crawling up them like fire and dying out as her interrogator flung it into his hand and then thrusted it in her face.

"How about now?" He asked again.

The faded, silver ring sat in his scarred palm. It was Elrohir's ring. The one that she had not taken off since they left Imladris. The one she swore she would never lose. And now it sat in the hands of her captor. Lostoriel felt rather than saw the smirk upon his face and tried to school her features. But it was too late.

His fingers closed around the ring as he withdrew his hand and he slunk into the shadows of the room. The smirk died upon his face and the elf grimaced. He did not want to do this.

"So, you do know what this is and who it belongs to." He snorted mirthlessly, and Lostoriel resisted the urge to break the chair, break his nose and take back Elrohir's ring. It was all she had of him, all that she would carry. "Tell me, was it given to you? For what riches did you persuade the son of Elrond to give up his own?"

The elf, having no sense of personal space, jutted his face near hers again. This time his eyes hard as stone. Her voice fell away as she cocked her head to the side and withheld a gasp as the hardness in his green eyes slipped away, revealing a softness for a brief moment before it faded away into fire.

"Like I said before. I have stolen nothing." Anger boiled within her. How dare he accuse her of such trickery? Lostoriel struggled to control her temper. She wanted to scream, to plead with him to believe her. Yet her words failed her, and Lostoriel found herself studying his familiar face once again. She knew those green eyes, she knew that crooked nose and the long, lightening like scar that travelled down his neck and the thin black leaves that wove around it.

"Spare us the trouble of lying and tell us the truth!" A second, husky voice split the silence. Lostoriel whipped around to find the source of the voice. All she found was darkness. However, she could hear the hiss of their clothing as they shuffled.

The ellon coughed and stamped his boot on the ground impatiently, his free hand rested on the hilt of his dagger and Lostoriel knew that he would not hesitate to use it. Though judging by the hesitance in his voice, perhaps not. "Speak now or I will have no choice but to throw you in the dungeons or to the wolves. Which do you prefer?"

Lostoriel forced the words out through her constricting throat, "I did not steal it. It was given to me as a gift." She cocked her head to the side. How dare he think that she would do such a thing? "If you choose not to believe me then perhaps you should consider writing to Elrohir Elrondion inquiring why he gave a traitor the ring he safe-guarded with his life for centuries. You should write to Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel herself if you think me a traitor! You know as well as I that they would have me in irons by now, Merenon!"

Her voice rang out into a blanket of silence. Her interrogator- Merenon- paled like the moon and gawked at her, blinking rapidly as if clearing his eyes after staring at the sun for too long. The ring clattered to the ground, the sound knocking none of them from the stupor they found themselves in.

"What did you say?" He whispered, all pretenses of malice and ice had melted away and Lostoriel spotted tears running down his cheeks.

Lostoriel swallowed the thick lump in her throat. It had been so obvious that she wanted to kick herself for not recognising him sooner. A century was enough time for a human to forget the face of one they loved, but not so for an elf. Before her stood her Merenon. One of the many Eldar who had raised her and trained her into the warrior that she was. Her father's sworn brother, her mother's closest friend. Her Adatôr. How had she been so clueless?

"Merenon?" Whispered Lostoriel and her voice echoed like thunder rolling across the sky. Tears welled in her eyes as she studied the familiar face in front of her. "Merenon? What- Is it truly you?" She tried to reach out to him and hissed as the fabric held her back. "Adatôr, I'd recognize your voice anywhere."

"Tithen pen." Said Merenon, his is hand already reaching out towards her as if he needed reassurance that he had not just been interrogating a ghost. He had spent years scouring the outskirts of the Mountain searching for her. He had travelled to the borders of foreign lands, seen the great sea, and had still came away with nothing. And yet, Lostoriel- their Lostoriel- sat crying in front of him.

His rough voice came away strained, "How is this possible?"

Before she could speak, another, louder, heavier set of footsteps approached the chair and she heard scuffling and muffled whispers in the darkness.

"Merenon."

Lostoriel nearly fainted at the sound of the harsh whisper. There was only one elleth in the entirely of Aman who would dare to take that tone with Merenon and Lostoriel had never been happier to hear her. She grinned into the darkness, sniffing whilst she wiped at her cheeks with her shoulder.

"Astordil?"

"...Step aside if you cannot do this." said Astordil, one of the most revered and feared warriors of her father's army and one of his closest friends. Her harsh voice barely came across as a whisper, but Lostoriel heard it all. "Whether she actually is Lostoriel or not we still have to question her. She held a knife to Laiqalassë's neck and shot at our king. Either she is a kinslayer or just an idiot."

The latter of her scolding rose higher in volume, enough so that Lostoriel felt as if she had been slapped. She had used the translation of her brother's name from the old language, each member of the royal household had a code name that they were addressed as in the presence of strangers. They served aliases for when they travelled. Again, Lostoriel tried to pull apart her bonds, felt them budge and then tighten like fire around her wrists.

"And yet she did not kill them"

"That's not the point and you know it. I understand that you want to let her go, to believe the words from her mouth, trust me Merenon there is nothing more that I too desire. But she tried to kill them both."

Silence followed and Lostoriel 's stomach dropped. If she was imprisoned herself, then what would become of the Company?

It tore at Lostoriel to even think of such a possibility. Her thoughts turned back to the Company, had she condemned them to death? Had her rash, foolish actions subjected them to a life spent rotting behind bars?

The firelight silhouetted the towering elleth, her daggers gleamed from her belt and though her stern glare sent shivers down Lostoriel's spine, she did not mind. For her wonderful Astordil, the fiercest warrior in the army, her aunt, almost mother-like figure, was here. Lostoriel gulped down a sob, all she wanted to do was embrace her. To embrace them both. They were her family. They were all she had and-

"Though I do not want to believe it, avof nathlad 'werth min daur vîn." Astordil spat out her words like they were poison on her lips. Something flashed amber in the dark, momentarily blinding Lostoriel as the fire in a small sconce roared to life, revealing intimidating figures silhouetted by its cold light.

Lostoriel, it felt as if someone had ripped her wound open with a blunt knife. We refuse to welcome traitors into our forest.

A traitor. They saw her as a traitor. This was not meant to have happened. No. She hadn't wanted to shoot at her father, she hadn't meant to hold her sword up to Legolas's neck and threaten him with death. But Lostoriel knew that she had done all this. And unfortunately, had survived to tell the tale. She did not think her actions through and now she would surely pay for her irrationality.

The elves did not take lightly to such actions. The crime of kin-slaying was the first code embedded into the laws of all three Elven realms, it was one of the first oaths that each warrior had to take. And though she had not intended to kill anyone she had still shot at her father- the king.

She swallowed the dryness in her throat and bit back the tears that she knew would fall. For here she was. Tied to a chair, unsure of what had become of her companions and being interrogated by the two people who had once loved her.

"I am no traitor." She managed to force out the words, though she did not believe them.

Lostoriel looked from Merenon's stunned, tear-stained face to Astordil's mask of stone. If she felt any compassion, Lostoriel knew it would be hidden behind her steely eyes. "Please you must believe me, I have no reason to want the life of the king or Legolas. Please!"

Astordil was having none of it. She reached for her dagger first, but instead balled her hands into fists and huffed frustratedly. She did not want to do this, but she knew that she had to.

"For what reason should be believe you?" She reached over her shoulder and thrusted the yellow-fletched arrows in Lostoriel's face. "These are yours. Whilst your dwarven companions were being attacked by spiders, no doubt drawing in our forces, you shot at our king. Not once, but thrice. If you truly are the princess, then you would do no such thing. You swore fealty to the crown, fealty to your people! How dare you so blatantly disregard your word?"

Astordil's nostrils flared indignantly, her chest rose and fell heavily as she caught her breath. Finally, she whispered, "You know better."

And Lostoriel wanted to run. Merenon interrogating her was one thing. He would not so hastily resort to such hurtful measures. However, under Astordil's viper-like scowl, Lostoriel knew that she stood no chance against such a formidable force.

Footsteps clattered down the staircase, followed by the distinct flapping of long robes as one of the elves swiftly paced towards them.

The firelight blinded Lostoriel from seeing much else as they approached. Only five blurred silhouettes against the amber, the swishing of robes grew closer as did the heavy boot-covered steps.

Lostoriel gasped as if she had been hit on the head. Like a summer storm rolling in from the mountains he swept into the room. Thunder boomed with each of his steps and already his mind pushed against hers and she had no to power to stop him.

Without warning blonde flashed in front if her, along with the hissing in metal and the cold air that blew the blade down to press hard against her throat.

"I have already spoken with your companion and know of their quest to reclaim their forsaken homeland. So, I will make this easy for you. Did you or did you not mean to kill me? Answer swiftly elfling or I'll have you strung up by your fingertips until the sun swallows the earth!"

The cold, unmistakeable voice offered no solace. Only spikes of ice and fury.

The blade pressed closer into her throat , where just moments before Merenon's blade had rested. Tiny droplets of blood trickled through the thin cracks in her skin.

"I have already jailed your half-wit companions. You are alone and injured with no chance of leaving here without our assistance. We have the power to help you. So, I suggest you start talking. Now!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: Gweston- I promise
> 
> Goheno nin- Forgive me
> 
> Hir-nin- My Lord
> 
> Brethil - Princess
> 
> Ernil- Prince. Ernil nin- my prince
> 
> Aran- King
> 
> naugrim- a derogitary name used by many of the Elves for the Dwarves.
> 
> Adatôr- "Uncle," from my father's side. Basically what one would call their father's brother.
> 
> Ellon- Male Elf. Elleth- Female Elf
> 
> Laiqalassë- This is the translation of Legolas's name in Quenya. In the original lore, Tolkien used it as a name for an early warrior named Laiqalasse, who was a renowned archer as well. I'm not gonna explain the entire story here, because it's kinda long, but there's a lot of info on him on the wiki pages.
> 
> Avof nathlad 'werth min daur vîn- We do not welcome traitors into our woods.


	22. I Keep My Brother, and He Keeps Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to put a trigger warning in for some heavy topics that come up here, like grief and death , war and some vivid descriptions of injuries. oh and there's also a bit of nudity.

“A fine lot of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into this time Bilbo Baggins.” Huffed Bilbo as he trudged down the vacant, dim passageway that hopefully led to the dungeons. Without halting his stride, he spun in a quick circle to ensure that there were no Elves behind him and huffed once again, running a hand through his hair as he did so. Hobbits were renowned for their ability to walk for days on end without easily tiring, however, he felt like the exception since his toes burned with pins and needles each time, they touched the cold stone. His battered arm, leg and back muscles ached with every stride, still no doubt bruised after he had slipped and fallen down the massive tree after the spider had tried to eat him. Bilbo furiously patted down his arms once again, fighting off the shiver and spiderwebs that made him feel like one of those monsters still crawled on him.

“Follow a bunch of ragtag dwarves and a half-wit wizard out your door!” He sighed, pointedly ignoring the almost painful rumble of his empty stomach. “Oh! And then befriend a reckless elf, why don’t you, and watch them all get themselves captured. Very smart indeed! Grandpa Mungo would not approve. Would not approve at all.”

Bilbo turned the sharp corner and nearly ran into an elf who popped out from a concealed doorway. He pressed himself against the wall. A hefty axe swung loosely at his side, at least Bilbo assumed that the elf was male. After an unsettling and frankly embarrassing moment in Rivendell with him mistaking Lord Elrond’s butler for she-elf, Bilbo decided that from then on that it was wiser to get a good look at an elf before addressing them. If Erestor was anything to go by, then it would be intelligent to attempt to keep his head firmly attached to his shoulders.

He watched tentatively as the elf hummed a mournful tune in a low voice and tromped his way down the winding passage. A long braid swished at his waist and Bilbo stood for a moment, fascinated by the way he almost floated above the ground. Much like the elk and doe that Thorin had shot at, he glowed pearl white and seemed somehow both frozen in and racing through time.

“Lieutenant!” Someone came racing up behind Bilbo, “Faelon! Wait!”

Their boots clanged on the stone and their armour clinked loudly. Bilbo held his breath as the elf ran past him. He could not take any unnecessary risks whilst they were in the fortress. Beorn had been correct in saying that the woodelves were less wise and more dangerous. That had been more than obvious to him when he had stumbled upon his friends being searched like criminals.

Anger had risen in him like the rushing current of the Brandywine River and it had taken everything within himself to not go barging into the clearing and tell those Elves just where they could stick their bonds and arrows. They had done nothing wrong. Unless getting lost in the woods and then being attacked by spiders was a crime.

Bilbo would not soon forget the embarrassment and fury on Thorin’s face as his hands were tied behind his back. However, he also would not forget the sheer exasperation of the poor guard who had to search Fili for his weapons. The dwarf had stood with a smug smile upon his face for a good twenty minutes before the elf pulled out the last dagger from his inner coat.

Bilbo sighed, his thoughts turning to Lostoriel. She had been dying when he saw her last: covered in blood, pale as death itself and yet something in Bilbo knew that she would survive so long as she remained here with the elves who could heal her.

“…should we do with the wolf that we captured this evening? Shall we release her back into the forest?”

The hobbit carefully picked his way closer to the pair of Elves. The newcomer was, from what he could tell, covered in fur, mud and had several rips in his clothing and hay in his hair. Judging from the way he nursed his forearm and hissed as he walked, Bilbo gathered that Sunflower had put up a fight. And it warmed his heart to know so.

“No. Los-“ Faelon coughed awkwardly and Bilbo smiled. He knew who this elf was! He was the one who had come to Lostoriel’s aid in the forest. “It would be better if we kept her in the south garden. Tiror will just have to work the hounds in the northern fields until the king has decided the fate of the dwarves.”

“And what of the elleth?”

A long silence ensued in which Bilbo could practically see the steam rising from Faelon’s ears. The wiry elf flushed pink and forced a tight-lipped glare at the younger elf beside him. “Her fate is none of our concern Celeiron.”

The warrior hesitantly stepped forward, a question burning at his lips.

 **“** Come on Faelon. Is it true that she is the Princess?”

“You know as well as I do that I am in no position to divulge any information Celeiron.” snapped Faelon, in a stern tone that broke no room for argument. He gestured flippantly to the end of the hallway, “Ensure that Tiror gets the message about the wolf. I need you to also ask Tauriel, Rhaweth and the other captains to meet me in the Captain’s Quarters as soon as their duties with the dwarves are done with.”

Faelon waited until Celeiron bowed his head and then he was off, marching down the hallway whilst the younger elf trudged back the way he came. And Bilbo followed with renewed curiosity, his hunger and exhaustion forgotten.

Rowdy laughter and excited shouting echoed down the long hallway, elves of all heights and sizes filled the airy passage, some hurrying along armed from head to toe in golden armour, others lazing between the rush, their swords and bows held loosely at their sides.

Bilbo plunged forward to avoid a pair of laughing guards who passed him by as wisps of white fog and continued after Faelon, who called out to them as he walked.

They continued down the passageway until he could see the forest growing into the rock, or the fortress stretching into the forest. Tree roots twisted around the columns of stone, their branches seemed to hold the roof up and tendrils of vine and flowers coiled themselves around the railings to the high ceiling. Winding passageways stretched off in all directions and Bilbo stood dumbfounded in the centre of the bustling hallway.

They dawdled past him, unaware of his presence. Many troops sprinted by in drips and drags, no doubt moving to their next post for the night watch. His stomach rumbled fiercely, and Bilbo became aware of the emptiness within his belly. Not now, he groaned.

He had not eaten for almost a day and his body felt it. He had come a long way from his days of whining and grumbling at the lack of second breakfasts, elevensies and luncheons, and he could go with only two meals a day- a fact he was most proud of. However, now he was exhausted, his body ached, and he struggled to supress the sneeze building in his nose. He needed food and sleep. Unfortunately, his ailments and hunger would have to wait.

Whilst he had been complaining, Faelon had disappeared in the throng of Elves. Bilbo cursed and a loud bell rang through the hall and hundreds of Elves swarmed like moths to a flame. A small whimper escaped him as his world was reduced to hundreds of legs and flowing tunics that slapped him as the elves whipped passed. He was whipped by hair and shoved from side to side unnoticed by the ethereal and oblivious Big Folk. He clutched onto his ring and scampered through the bustle, dodging swords, arms and knees until the fresh air greeted him and he clambered up one of the pillar bases and searched desperately for the ebony-haired elf.

The elves truly were beautiful creatures. The tales that his mother had told him of her encounters with the few who would travel through the Old Forest to and from the Grey Havens did not do justice to the WoodElves. They seemed wilder than those of Rivendell. There was something more alive within these elves, as if they lived in the present, bursting, and overflowing with life.

He squinted into the crowd but found no sign of Faelon. Instead, he saw elves with hair the colour of fire, with clothing that danced as they walked, some had weapons strapped to their persons, others laughed giddily. If he didn’t know any better, then he would have assumed that the realm was a peaceful one. But there were many elves with blood-stained bandages, their limbs held in casts, and some using crutches to walk where they had lost a leg in battle.

There! Bilbo grinned. He spotted Faelon in the middle of a small group of Elves who laughed and joked with him. He seemed to be excusing himself from the conversation and Bilbo leapt down from the pillar and made a beeline for him before he could lose him again. For such a wiry elf, he moved like lightning as Bilbo chased him down the vast hallway, dodging annoying legs and elbows, and nearly crashed into Faelon’s back as they rounded a sharp corner and into a quieter passageway.

Moonlight washed the ironstone from high, wide windows and the firelight from the sconces illuminated a series of doors on either side of the wide passage. Graceful Elven letters were carved into plaques on each door, Bilbo gathered that these were offices of sorts, probably for the captains and generals in the guard. Faelon did not stop in any of these rooms, and continued weaving his way through, greeting soldiers and friends as he did so.

After criss-crossing down several hallways and steep staircases, Bilbo and his quarry finally arrived in a small armoury. Many weapons that he was and was not familiar with lined the walls, shelves and hung barrels of arrows that were scattered across the room. Bows, swords and many other weapons that he didn’t know the name for lined the wall beside neatly folded grey- green cloaks and heavy looking pieces of dulled leather armour.

Several warriors disarmed themselves, shockingly large piles of weapons lay in a haphazard pile before each elf, many of whom Bilbo recognised from the forest. Even disarmed they looked dangerous. He assumed that under normal circumstances that they would be a jolly bunch, but now as they spoke in hushed tones, he turned his ears towards their conversations, hearing Lostoriel’s name mentioned more than once.

He watched as Faelon lay his battle-axe against the wall, run a hand over his face and recoil in horror as he realised that it was covered in blood. Scarlet smeared down the elf’s cheek and Bilbo’s insides twisted painfully, bile rose to his throat. He pushed it down, telling himself that Lostoriel would live. That he would find her and that they would get out of here as soon as possible. A part of him wondered just who he was trying to convince of that.

Bilbo scuffled back near the cupboards, careful not to rustle any of the clothing that hung behind him, or the pile of leather armour being cleaned by a particularly terrifying looking soldier with massive, scarred arms.

The breezy scent of the warrior’s polish diffused into the air and a sneeze built up in Bilbo’s nose, his heart raced wildly as the pressure built and he had no choice but to sneeze into the crock of his elbow. He prepared himself for his discovery until he realised that he was firstly invisible and secondly that someone had dropped something that clanged with an echo as he sneezed, ensuring that no one heard him.

“Ai, Faelon! There you are!” The cheerful elf who had dropped the sword carefully picked her way across the room, precariously balancing an armful of Dwarven swords, bows and daggers. Long, twin blades hung at her side, they, and the elf’s hair gleamed amber in the firelight. Bilbo once again found himself astounded from how different these elves were from their kin in Rivendell. She was beautiful, like tulips in the spring and yet Bilbo knew that beneath that beauty lay danger.

A thick accent coloured her words as she spoke in the Common Tongue, and Bilbo found himself frowning at the chunkiness of common speech in comparison to the music of the elven tongue.

“The prisoners have been put away and fed,” she gestured to the weapons in her arms, leaning dangerously to the left, “please tell me that we’re storing these here for the time being? I don’t think I’ll be able to carry them across the fortress again. Oh, and Rillien is on his way down with the rest.” she added as an afterthought.

Bilbo awkwardly shuffled out of the way, narrowly missing being knocked over by the muscular warrior. He gulped; she could snap him in half like a twig if she so chose to. Bilbo became all too aware of the unsettling fact that he stood in a room with some of the most dangerous elves to walk the earth.

Faelon sighed warily, dropping the bloodied cloth he had been using to clean his face on the bench he sat on, “That we are, Rhaweth.”

He watched with mild curiosity and a mind full of anger as Faelon gestured to Rhaweth, both slipping back into their home tongue as they locked away the dwarve’s weapons in a wooden box against a wall. Bilbo would have slapped them over their heads if he could. They simply tossed all of Fili’s knives into the box as if they were sticks, not to mention that Dwalin’s axes were all but left to rust in a musty old corner of the room.

“Elbereth!” A quiet exclamation escaped Rhaweth’s lips and she held up a sword to the light. It gleamed with the radiance of the moon. Bilbo watched with bated breath as the she-elf unsheathed it, running her fingers across the scabbard and then the blade.

It was Orcrist!

Bilbo grimaced, a wave of fatigue washed over him followed swiftly by irritation for the pair of elves who knelt close together, gawking at the sword as if it were some relic. Which it in fact was, but Bilbo was too tired to stop complaining to himself about the elves. If he could have snatched it out their hands he would have.

Hurried footsteps drew nearer, echoing off the stone and cutting off the hushed voices of the elves.

An elf with a face almost as red as his hair burst into the room. He moved with the urgency of a madman, and he looked the part too with his wide eyes and braids that hung at all angles.

“Faelon!” He breathlessly came to a halt, leaning with his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “The Lords…And-“

“Rillien, what’s wrong?”

Immediately Rhaweth was at his side, pulling him upright and rapidly questioning him whilst Faelon fastened his own cloak around his neck. The three spoke in hasty whispers, Faelon’s expression darkened with every word that came from Rillien.

As Bilbo studied them closely, both Rillien and Rhaweth had flaming red hair, and freckles across their or rather Rhaweth’s pointed nose. Rillien’s was crocked, no doubt it being broken more than once and left to heal on its own. They both had the same build, though Rhaweth was just taller than him by a few inches. They were siblings! Maybe even twins, but Bilbo doubted it. Lostoriel had once told him that twins were an extremely rare occurrence in the elven world.

With a flurry of cloaks and hair Faelon hurried out the room followed closely by Rhaweth and then her brother. In a matter of seconds they had disappeared out the door and into the bustling hallway. Another two elves stood in the threshold leading into the hall. Bilbo cursed silently, he was trapped.

The room, though quiet, filled itself with the excited hum of the elves as they discussed the strange occurrence. And Bilbo stood with a deep frown upon his face, and his fists pressing into his sides.

He had no idea of what had just transpired. He had no way of getting out of here either since he could not remember the way back from where he came from. He took a quick look at the room and his frown deepened, there were two adjoining doors to either side of the room that he could try. Perhaps they were an entrance into passageways that would take him to where Lostoriel was, or perhaps the dwarves.

But first, he would have to somehow get one of the doors open without being noticed.

Luckily, he did not have to wait very long.

One of the elves leisurely padded into the next room, a towel slung over his shoulder, and Bilbo hurried after him, letting the door shut behind him with a thud.

The temperature change in the room set his nose itching as a thick wall of steam rose around him. Lively chatter and laughter dominated over the loud gush of water from the showers to one side of the room. From somewhere in the chaos someone sang a randy sounding tune, another voice called to them with words, which Bilbo to his surprise knew the meaning of thanks to Lostoriel and her foul mouth and the singing ended in a roar of laughter.

Bilbo ducked out the way as a shirtless elf briskly rushed out the washroom. He had to duck again when a pair of elves horsed around near the cabinets that housed their clothing, and then leapt over another who sat tying the laces to his boots.

He nearly fell on top of the double bench that split one side of the room in half when someone aimed an extremely dirty towel at another across the room and it nearly hit Bilbo on the head. He ducked and dived beneath and over arms and legs. Having to, more than once, dance around shirtless and much to his discomfort pant- less elves until he stumbled upon perhaps the quieter part of the washroom.

Bilbo spotted the door and made a bee-line for it, only to be stopped by a new group of warriors who swaggered into the room, covered in mud and twigs. For a moment he was swept away by the tall warriors who surrounded him, moving backwards and forwards, turning this way and that until they broke away and he spun away.

Steaming hot water hit his back, flattening his hair and Bilbo bit back a gasp as the warm water squelched between his toes. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing who or rather what he may see if he opened them.

Bilbo could feel someone move in front of him and he cursed again, hating that he could not just disappear. His feet were filthy, and he doubted that his ring could hide muddy footprints.

With a disgruntled sigh he pried his eyes open, holding his breath and nearly fainting as he came face to face with a round, gleaming elven bottom. The sight did not make him squirm. Almost nine months of travelling with thirteen dwarves who took pleasure in their nakedness had effectively chipped away at his sense of modesty. At least the elf was not facing him.

He had spoken too soon.

He bit back an exclamation of surprise with a scarlet face. The elf shut off the water and turned.

Bilbo wished that he were taller and not waist height. For there too close to him for his liking, hung what Dwalin liked to call his ‘jewels’.

He did not know what he did to deserve this. Bilbo dashed to the side to let the elf pass by and nearly bumped into another showering elf who apparently decided that it was time for him to rinse. He nearly bumped into another elf naked as the day he was born. Warm, soapy water spluttered onto Bilbo who hurriedly hopped down the small step, shrugged off his coat and placed it on the dry ground before any of the elves could walk passed.

He grimaced, his mother would not approve of what he did next, but he did not have a choice.

Bilbo stepped onto his coat, drying off his feet and leaving it smeared brown with mud and dirt. He gathered his once red coat, now soaked heavy with water and bolted from the showers and through the doorway like his life depended on it.

()()()

It was sometime in the early hours of the morning that Bilbo dragged his cold, wet self across the silent passageway. A cold draught whistled through, sending shivers up his spine.

He had not found Faelon again, nor had he heard a single word about Lostoriel as he trudged through the kingdom looking for a place to sleep.

That was all he wanted. To rest his weary, aching feet and let his taut muscles rest beside a fire, or even in a dark corner in a forgotten room where he could pretend that his friends were not imprisoned or injured. Bilbo sniffed miserably and squeezed his arms closer to his chest. He just wanted somewhere to pretend that he was not a little person in a large kingdom, all alone and with no chance of escape.

His stomach grumbled thunderously at the warm, sweet smell emanating from the end of the passageway. His nose would never lead him astray and life sprung back into the hobbit once again. He was nearing the kitchens. As he studied his surroundings Bilbo noticed the massive kitchen which spread across one side of the hall. One or two elves still worked near a raging oven, the gush of running water made Bilbo all the more aware of the dryness in his mouth, as he passed by the scullery where tall servants scrubbed dishes and pots all the while singing a jaunty tune.

His sore feet and weary bones forgotten, Bilbo practically sprinted down the passage and skidded to a halt.

A dying fire cackled softly in the grate to one side, casting long shadows from the large tables in the middle of the room and onto the coal stove at the other end of the massive room. In the dim light he saw fresh vegetables in bowls, fruit laying in baskets on the centre counters and long tendrils of what smelt like time and rosemary hanging from above. And on the stove sat a steaming kettle of tea that set Bilbo’s mouth watering.

The sweet scent wafted into his nose and he followed until he came to the counter by the windows where several trays of scones were left to cool off.

It was almost cruel, the way they stared at him. Tempting him and his now roaring stomach. Silently, he told it to shut up in case someone should hear.

Bilbo turned away from the scones. He couldn’t just take one. No, he knew better than that, it was stealing and his conscience told him to walk away and find food somewhere else.

He turned back apprehensively, no one would know. Perhaps a lesser member of the kitchen staff would be blamed if one or two would go missing? There were almost twelve trays of warm, buttery scones just waiting to be eaten.

He could take one. He was going to take one, maybe two or three. Afterall, why shouldn’t he? He was the designated burglar of the Company and he was sure that the dwarves would approve.

Standing on his tippy-toes Bilbo managed to snag three scones from one tray, careful to stack them in his hands so that the crumbs would not fall. With a short cry of surprise, he remembered the tea and waddled over to the stove to pour himself a tall cup. Setting down the scones he clambered onto his toes and lunged for the massive, round mug that the baker had no doubt left for themselves.

But Bilbo did not care. All he could taste was bitterness on his tongue and sand in his throat. Carefully he lifted the heavy kettle and poured himself a cup of the most fragrant tea he had ever smelt in his life. The rich, almost creamy scent drew him in, fragments of seeds and unmixed spices rose to the surface and Bilbo lost all his resolve.

He did not even check if the tea was cool enough for drinking before he brought the cup to his lips and swallowed a mouthful. The warm liquid filled him like the winter sun, spreading from his stomach to his fingers and toes. He gulped down the remainder, ignoring the way it dripped down his cheeks in the most un-Baggin’s way imaginable. Bilbo downed another two mug fulls, poured himself a third, briskly spun on his heels and ducked under the table near the fire, uncaring for the cold floor beneath him for he had food and a fire to warm his toes.

The hobbit was not concerned that the baker would find him, now that his thirst was quenched, his hunger roared. The table was tall enough for him to sit upright under. He barely tasted the first scone as he devoured it and took the time to savour the next, enjoying how the cake melted like butter in his mouth and the rich texture played a medley on his pallet.

Surrounded by a thin pile of crumbs, Bilbo belched so loudly that Fili would be proud. He hurriedly checked that no one had heard him, and after hearing nothing but silence he laid himself down, turned on his side and fell into the dreamless sleep of the exhausted.

* * *

Lostoriel could not bring herself to look up and into her father’s eyes. Instead, she focused on her feet and on suppressing the dread that rose within her. His mind pressed against hers and it took all her willpower to push him back.

“I did not…I meant you…” Her voice shrunk away, much as it had when she was little and afraid. Her wound flickered with pain that bloomed across her entire body. Lostoriel squeezed her eyes shut, it was the only way she could manage to ease the pain. She needed to speak. She could feel the tension in the room thickening. She had to save her dwarves. So, she mustered her courage and met his eyes.

He had seen this before. On a black night turned amber by fires, when his throat had been thickened with dust and ash and the cries of a foreign tongue had surrounded him. Thingol had let the dwarves into his kingdom first as friends. And he had died for it.

But this was his child. And no matter what he thought of the grandson of Thror, his instincts screamed at him to believe her.

Thranduil’s fierce gaze that had frozen so many warriors in place faltered and Lostoriel felt his sword waver in his hand. He was one of the most skilled warriors possibly on Aman, she never knew his grip to falter and it sent her heart constricting. He was horrified, there was no other explanation for it.

Lostoriel opened her mouth to speak but lost her words at the expression on her father’s face. He only ever wore those sad eyes and stern grimace when he was torn between mercy and duty. And now more than ever the king of the Greenwood had no choice but to bear his crown and his law, no matter how much he loathed to do so. He too fortified himself, easing the sword to hover before her skin, and forced the ice back into his gaze.

“Well?” Lostoriel grimaced at his iron tone.

“I did not try to- To kill you or Legolas.”

Silence blanketed the room. No one dared move a muscle.

Now that her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see the vague, but familiar outline of her brother off to one corner. “No matter how it may seem, I am incapable of such despicable action. Since you have- “

Lostoriel bit down the biting remark on her tongue, the dwarves were undoubtedly imprisoned, and she had no clue what she was doing. But they did not know that. She had to tell the truth. Despite the consequences that would follow.

“The spider’s got to them first and I needed to assist the Company before any of the elves got there because I knew that they would be taken as prisoners. So, I tried to ward you off.”

“By firing at me?”

“I fired past you.”

Somewhere in the darkness she heard an unbecoming snort from the direction of Legolas.

Thranduil pressed the sword against her skin once again and Lostoriel grimaced, knowing what she had just done. No one would dare speak to him in such a disrespectful manner, however, she did remind him of himself in his younger days. That did not lessen the fury and dread swirling within him.

Her father was not a cruel ellon, not even when pushed to the brink. He loved her and Legolas with everything within him. But he was a commander and king. And the line between family and duty had to be drawn somewhere. He had almost been killed while thirteen dwarves entered his forest and his long-lost daughter had mystically appeared.

It really was a wonder that she was not already imprisoned.

“That is not the point and you know it. You committed the highest form of treason in all four of the Elven Kingdoms.” Thranduil ‘s face inched closer to hers until she felt his breath on her nose. He pulled away like a serpent from its prey, straightened his shoulders and leisurely strolled around her. Lostoriel flushed crimson with shame.

“Come clean about your motives, I have survived much worse than a poor markswoman. You could have killed me and yet you chose not to. Though I do not doubt the authenticity of Oakenshield’s tale, I must inquire as to what business has posing as my daughter and trespassing through my woods with a troop of stinking dwarves?”

Thranduil told himself that he would not look at her as he walked past this time. But he could not help it. He could feel it within his bones that this truly was Lostoriel who sat before him. Every fibre of his being cried out for him to stop his circling and questioning and to embrace his child. And yet a small part of him knew that there was a deep magic within the world, dark and menacing. Out to destroy them all. He could take no chances. Not when it came to his already war-torn realm. And not when it came to his family.

“Trespassing?” Lostoriel snorted indignantly, “Since when is getting lost in the forest and stumbling into a spider’s nest trespassing?” Her words echoed in the silence. Her entire body ached with pain and her patience was running short. Why he could not simply believe her was beyond her and all Lostoriel wanted to do was close her eyes and wait for the pain to fade away. “Like I told your commanders, I did not intend to kill anyone, much less my own father and brother. And if I wanted to then we would not be having this conversation, now would we?”

This time Lostoriel did look at her father and was taken aback by both his brows being raised and what she hoped, but doubted, was good-natured humour that glinted in his eyes. “And secondly, we did not mean to disturb the people of the forest. Call me a traitor and a kinslayer all you want Aran-nin, but I had no ulterior motives. And if you wish to, like I know you will, to verify the claims as to who I am and what my business is then by all means ride to Imladris and inquire all you will about me from Lord Elrond. Better yet seek council with Lady Galadriel and the three remaining Maiar. I am sure that you will find that you stand mistaken-“

Thranduil had had enough of this babbling. He longed to believe her. But he needed the truth and he needed it now. 

Mustering all his strength he pushed through the stone wall she used to block out the bond that he and Legolas shared with her. Before, her bond had been like the spring breeze, wafting through the air like butterflies through meadows and sometimes more ferocious than a winter’s blizzard. But now it was fortified like the very gates of Angmar and Lostoriel pushed back with a fierce glare and a rough wave of fury.

Everyone else in the room froze as the temperature dropped like a fall into a frozen lake. An eerie glow emanated from Thranduil, and he stood tall with the strength of the old trees of the forest. Though no one could see, Legolas paled and stood gaping in horror as he watched his father forcibly broke their bond and his sister’s resolve fading with every second.

Perhaps if she had been stronger, Lostoriel would have fought back. But she was tired and the fight within her gave way.

A heavy silence fell upon them, like the calm before a battle. It started as a slight tingling on the tips of their fingers which exploded into radiating white light as Lostoriel slumped against her chair.

Monolithic pillars of emerald and sapphire rose from the red stone, accompanied by the blinding glitter of a raging inferno refracting through thousands of jewels and golden trinkets that swirled in the air like the winds of a hurricane. The inferno engulfed the room, the wind picked up and the dragon Smaug swept down from the high ceilings and breathed a wave of fire upon them all. A guttural scream erupted from somewhere far below and Lostoriel leapt out of the swirling mass of treasure, her sword thrusted forward, and her shield held before her as Smaug grinned viciously at her.

"You think you can defeat me?" his rough voice cut through the roaring of the flames. "I am invincible. I am your doom elfling!" Lostoriel ducked beneath a pillar, jutting her shield to the right in a futile attempt to shield herself from the stream of flames which he breathed out.

_“You would sit upon your throne and rule a kingdom that will crumble should another force of darkness settle at our borders rather than aid Thror!” Lostoriel’s voice echoed through the fire and Thranduil’s shadow gracefully floated up the stairs to his throne._

"Come little princess. Let's see what good daddy taught you under the trees.” Smaug taunted her," Oh yes very intriguing indeed." his voice rose as a thought came to him. The dragon laughed as he rose to his full height, towering above the ruins of the once spectacular dwarf fortress, his claws wrapping around entire staircases. The monstrous, orange flames that licked the walls made him look menacing against the pure sunlight that streamed through the high windows.

"Perhaps I should pay your little forest a visit. I'm sure they will welcome me." An evil smile pulled at his scaly skin revealing a set of teeth the length of spears and swords and the size of small trees.

_“There is no place for me here!”_

They all watched in horror as Lostoriel stared the beast in his amber eyes with a deadly glare of determination and terror. The dragon stepped back. And the princess raised her sword and with a cry charged head on. Her shield held before her, heating until it glowed orange under the dragon’s fire. A haunting scream filled the air as Smaug swooped down, sweeping up waves of gold and darkness filled the air. Steam bubbled and hissed in the air, solidifying into water and the world spun like a compass needle gone mad. The writhing waters of a pool far below drew closer, then the deafening roar of the waterfall and the pool grew sickeningly closer. All their stomachs twisted as gravity took a hold and Lostoriel hit the water with a deathly smack. The steam rose once more.

Thranduil’s sword fell with a resounding clang upon the ground and he stumbled backwards into Merenon, who caught him before he could fall.

The fire in the sconce weakly flickered back to life and Lostoriel fell forward awkwardly, vomiting up what little remained in her stomach. Legolas rushed to her side and caught Lostoriel before she went down with the chair.

“My Lord that is enough!” A pair of elves flew down the stairs, the one in the lead practically glared murderously at the king. His long white robes flapped wildly as he ran to where Legolas held up his sister. “I allowed your commanders to interrogate her on a single request that no further harm befalls her!”

The prince’s eyes never left Lostoriel’s face and the healer only knew why when he bent down to gently wipe away the grime around her mouth with a cloth he produced out of his satchel. And gasped as he stared into a face that did not look to be alive at all. Quickly he schooled his features. He had seen burns like this only once before when Thranduil and his battalion had battled the serpents of the north millennia ago.

“Lostoriel?” But the elleth did not look up. He checked her pulse on the side of her neck that was still covered in skin and huffed in relief as he felt her pulse beat steadily beneath his fingers. Bronaduion rummaged blindly in his satchel, his eyes continuing to examine the burns that flared to life all along the left side of her body and his heart constricted at the sound of her ragged breathing.

“Untie her.” He commanded Legolas who clearly did not hear him as he stared in horror at his sister. “Legolas Thranduilion untie her at once!”

The young prince sprang into action and slit through her wrist and ankle bonds with his long knife, catching Lostoriel as she crumpled like an empty sack of potatoes.

“Hold her up.” The ginger-haired elf assisted him in gently resting her against the back of the chair and got to seeing to her wound before he could attend to her burns.

Lostoriel groaned through gritted teeth and she tried to set her feet upon the ground, but her muscles ached and burned when she did so. The blood rushed back to her wrists and ankles in a wave of pricks and pulls and the pain ebbed in like the tide.

“Thranduil, what has happened here?” Commanded the elf who had followed Bronaduion, his dark, braided hair swishing behind him. He looked sternly from a deathly pale Thranduil to Astordil and then to Merenon, both of whom were shaken to their cores. “Merenon? Astor?”

Finally, he turned to Renieth, who stood quietly to one side of the room looking lost. “Captain, care to fill me in?”

Again, he found no answer.

“We… I- “ Renieth had seen unspeakable horrors upon the battlefield, but this was something entirely different. This was her gwathel. Her Lostoriel who she had grown up with, grieved for, mourned over for decades and now she sat before her, being interrogated by the ones they loved most and looking for all the world like the wraith that the men of the lake spoke of.

She could not stomach it. This was all too much for her to bear. Renieth waded up the stairs and disappeared into the stronghold, shaking, and hastily wiping at her eyes the entire time.

“Renieth. Ren!” After a quick exchange between Legolas, Astordil hurried after her leaving Merenon to guard Thranduil.

Lostoriel cursed and Galion spun on his heels, finally understanding- with a falling stomach- why they had all been speechless.

For there, knelt Bronaduion, throwing down a bloodied bandage and retying a clean one around Lostoriel. At least he thought that was Lostoriel. He could see her muscles and tendons flutter like fiddle strings as she spoke. In some places on her hand the skin had tried to regrow, but it mingled with her flesh, bone peaked out from beneath the redness and one of her eyes was milky white.

Lostoriel tried to ignore the fact that they all stared at her like she was a nightmare and willed her skin to cover her wounds. Bronaduion, she knew, was trying to be as gentle as he could, but even so everything burned. At least Legolas tried to soothe her by talking, but she could hear the fear trembling in his voice.

“Thranduil…” Galion blindly reached for his old friend and found his shoulder unsure if the shaking came from Thranduil or from himself.

Galvanised into action Thranduil picked his way towards Lostoriel just as Bronaduion tied off the bandage.

 _‘If there is no place for others in your heart, then there is no place for me.’_ Her words smashed their way into his heart just as they had the day he had lost her. His daughter thought that he did not love her. Thranduil had not had the strength to move as he watched her storm out of the fortress, he didn’t have the will to call her back as a coldness washed over him and their bond broke.

Lostoriel forced herself to look up, her features had contorting between fury and shock and returning to normal. she hissed through gritted teeth, “Was that evidence enough for you, my King?”

She glared up at him, fire burning before the tears in her eyes and Thranduil’s stomach twisted. What he had done was unforgivable. The three of them had promised long ago to only use their bonds in this way if it were a life-or-death situation. And he had broken her trust.

His knees threatened to give way and it took everything within him to stand up straight. He could not fathom that he had been correct. The fact that he had doubted himself just hours before seemed to rash now. Now that his daughter, his Lostoriel was alive. But a part of him sunk deeper within himself, knowing that he had pushed her further away. Just as he had all those years ago.

Thranduil knelt before her, blanched like a winter’s day, and watched in horror at the sight of her dark flesh moving as she spoke. He brought a hand to his cheek to remind himself that it was not his reflection that he stared at, but that it was his daughter.

He had once looked like this. Bloody, burnt and stripped of all he knew of himself. A shiver crawled up his spin as he remembered the fire that licked his skin, the horrid gusts of the dragon’s wings and that waking moment when his entire body seemed to be melting around him.

Staring at Lostoriel through misty eyes he felt sick to his core, his heart refused to accept what he had just seen. His words stuck stubbornly to his throat and he suddenly wished that the vast emptiness left behind by his wife was filled. He needed her to help him speak, to help him take the next step, because he had witnessed the moment his child had died. He had seen the light leave her eyes and the fire take her. Celerieth would not break as he fractured like ice in the sunlight. She would know what to do next.

“Adar.” Legolas briefly squeezed his arm, snapping Thranduil back into the present.

The king shook his head upon realising that he had sat there staring at his daughter for several minutes.

The king shook his head upon realising that he had sat there staring at his daughter for several minutes. He pushed his fury down as far as he could even though a part of him knew that she was a traitor to the crown. But that was a problem to solve later. Right now, he had to set his crown down.

Tentatively, Thranduil reached out to take her hand and Lostoriel let him. For them both it was like reaching into the depths of a memory long lost and forgotten, never knowing what they may pick out of the misty deep.

Tears pricked at Thranduil’s eyes as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, from somewhere deep within him a strange warmth erupted and he found his voice, though it came as barely a whisper.

“Iel-nin.”

Those two words echoed through the room and Lostoriel could not stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks, or the strangled sob that escaped her lips. This was in so many ways unlike seeing Elladan and Elrohir again, or Glorfindel. Even without understanding how it was possible she had found herself rooted around them, and yet here with her father and brother she pushed against two opposing forces that threatened to tear her apart.

“Adar.” She murmured, not ready to let her guard down.

Thranduil reached out and placed a hand on her cheek, he could have sworn that the Lostoriel he saw was the little girl afraid to walk down a dark passageway without holding his hand. But when he looked again, he saw the child he had inadvertently pushed away, the one who had followed down the same paths he tread.

A third rough hand squeezed his and Legolas came into view. He looked lost, unsure of what he should say or do. Thranduil touched Legolas’s cheek. It was a strange sensation, to have both his children with him once again. He wanted to say something, to tell them how much he loved them both and how he would somehow fix this. But Lostoriel’s cropped hair caught his eyes and he could not help but gasp. The ambers of a smouldering fire roared to life in his eyes.

“Who did this to you?”

Lostoriel’s answer died on her lips and she gently pushed her father’s hand towards him. The wide cavern grew too small, the air seemed to warm and Lostoriel could not meet either of their eyes. She could not stand the shame that erupted within her, the dishonour. Fury boiled in her veins, not just for what Azog had done, but for the Dwarves being captured, for the utter harshness of what Merenon and Astordil had done. And it spilled over at the thought of her father’s disbelief and the pain that he had caused her.

She snatched her hand away from theirs, tears and heartache forgotten, she glared at her father in defiance and rage. “It is no concern of yours.”

“You knew that it was me who sat here from before you came, there was no need for you to do what you have done.” The bond that elven parents shared with their children was a sacred one, one that was built on trust. And her father had shattered what little trust Lostoriel had left. Her indignation grew and a wall of ice fell upon Thranduil and Legolas.

“Lostoriel.” Legolas warned, knowing what she had done again. He could practically feel the rage radiating off his father and the indignation ebbing from his sister. He loathed it when they fought. It was like watching two monoliths clashing into each other with no hope of stopping the quakes that would emanate from their actions.

“No, Legolas, you will let me speak. I understand that what I have done is the highest form of treason. I understand that the penalty is banishment or imprisonment. I do not care which you chose. Let me out to the wolves or imprison me in the deepest, darkest cell in the dungeons for all eternity, let me rot away in the cold,” Lostoriel rose from the chair with renewed strength, her entire body screamed for her to sit down, and she bit down her pain replacing it with anger, “but do not. Do. Not pretend that everything is fine and that any of this did not happen. Let’s not pretend that we have been one big happy family. Don’t sit there acting like you did not just hold a sword to my neck Ada. You do not-“

She stopped herself short before she could let the flame touch the wood, her hands were definitely not shaking at her sides. She coughed away the hard lump in her throat and tried her best to ignore the hurt on Legolas’s face, or the mix of anguish and fury on her father’s.

“I wish to return to the healing wards,” Her head snapped back to her father with an unbridled anger in her eyes, “With your permission of course, my King.”

She practically spat out the last two words and it took Legolas’s steadying hand on his arm and the slight shake of his head for Thranduil to swallow his anger and simply nod his head.

“Go Bronaduion, take her.” The healer stood stunned at the roughness in Thranduil’s voice, never had he heard him sound so exhausted.

Lostoriel opened her mouth to speak, but Legolas sent her a meaningful look, and she knew to keep her mouth shut. They rose, giving her room to pass by.

The moment Lostoriel stepped forward her legs gave way and Legolas caught her in time before she hit the floor. He looked like he was on the verge of speaking but thought better of it and shifted her into Bronaduion’s arm.

“Come Lostoriel.” He slung an arm around her waist and helped her hobble to the dimly lit stairs. Galion, who had stood beside Merenon shaking like a leaf as the scene unfolded before them, grabbed a torch from one of the sconces and wordlessly led the way for them.

“Wait, please.” Lostoriel halted before the first step and twisted in Bronaduion’s grasp to face Merenon. “May I have my ring back Lord Merenon? Just the ring.” She clarified, not wanting anything more to do with that accursed chain.

He strode forward, her sword still strapped to his belt and absolutely no expression upon his face. Merenon gently handed her the silver ring, which Lostoriel slipped onto her finger, relief washing over her as she felt the cool metal around her flesh once more. It was all she had of Elrohir. She would undeniably be banished from the other elven kingdoms after this, and he would never see her in the same way again.

Just as they made it halfway up the staircase, Legolas rushed over and grabbed her shoulder. His lips were pressed into a thin line and his brows furrowed into deep knots.

“I will come and find you later.” Lostoriel’s stomach fell at the admonishment and resignation in his voice, that was the tone he used whenever she had managed to do something rash or had angered him, “please don’t do anything reckless before then.”

With that he turned and fled down the stairs. As he reached the bottom, Lostoriel noticed her father warily running his hands over his face; his shoulders slumped forward, and his crown hung loosely in his hands. He seemed grey and hollow, almost like he had aged a thousand years, the grief hung around him like a thick blanket and Lostoriel’s hands started shaking again.

She was responsible for this.

* * *

The first haze of the grey dawn pressed against the dark sky to the East. The deepest part of the night had flickered by like a lightning strike for Lostoriel who leaned against the doorframe to the large balcony that extended from her room. The pouring rain beat against the forest, swirling and howling with the wind. It had not stopped since the early hours of the morning, leaving her to sit in the dark, listening to the storm passing by.

An icy wind of rain swept past her and she pressed her arm against her side, shielding her wound from the cold. Lostoriel yawned and pulled the thick blanket further around her shoulders, shuffling awkwardly to avoid it tangling around her feet.

She had not slept through the night. The medication that Bronaduion had given her knocked her out like a blow to the head and she had awoken in the wee hours of the night after dreams of her mother and the dragon and one of tumbling off the side of a cliff and into the endless depths of black waters.

She hissed as her elbow hit her side and her flesh wound erupted in pain. Lostoriel gently folded her arms, the ends of the blanket bundled under white knuckles. At least she had slept a painless sleep, her old wounds did not burn, she did not even notice the gash on her stomach until she turned on her side and jolted up in a wave of nausea.

It had been almost two days since she had the dwarves had been captured and since her interrogation. At least she assumed it had been that long. The medication that Bronaduion had administered to her kept her in a haze between reality and her dreams. She wished that she had not raised her bow to her father. If she had simply left him at the bog without having shot at him, maybe if she had then the Company would not be imprisoned, perhaps then the mutterings of _kinslayer_ would not echo in her dreams and maybe, just maybe she could have embraced her father and brother.

There had been a moment when she had her family back, but her fury and anger and grief had swelled to the surface.

She had seen neither her father or brother since then, and not even a single sign that Bilbo was around. Lostoriel had not even seen the other side of the door. Two guards had been posted outside her room door and another two stood guard on the balcony. It was a smart move, no doubt motivated by her endless, successful, attempts to escape for a walk or for good from the hospital wing. Even now as she stood watching the sunlight pour through the rain, she could see the guards holding their spears a little tighter and closer to themselves.

Legolas had returned that night, as he said he would, but his visit had been cut short by Lostoriel falling off to sleep almost minutes after Bronaduion made her drink that fiercely disgusting draught.

She knew that her brother and father would most likely be forbidden from seeing her until she had faced the consequences of her actions. What those were, she was yet to discover. Lostoriel was torn between wanting to see them, Merenon and Astordil included. Lostoriel didn’t blame them for interrogating her as they did, if she was in their position after the king had been shot at and a group of dwarves had appeared at the same time, she too would have reacted that way. Though, she would have not thrown the dwarves in prison for traveling through the forest. Lostoriel knew that she would be fighting for all their freedom, she only hoped that Thorin wouldn’t do anything stupid before then.

She pushed that thought aside and turned back to the sounds of the rising kingdom.

It was so strange to be standing in the healing wards again, to hear the faint steps of the nurses and medics as they shuffled through the halls ready to begin the day or end it. Beyond the noise of the hospital wing, she could hear the kingdom waking up. Already the cavalry troops had taken their horses out for a ride, the courtyard below bustled with servants and other elves, running through the rain and crossing paths on their way to begin the day. But the fluttery aloofness that had engulfed her fell into a pit and sank into the depths when she remembered the dwarves and what her actions had cost them.

The wooden door creaked open and Bronaduion strode in followed by two guards whom she did not recognise, but judging by the plain green and brown clothing they wore and the birch leaf sewn above their left breast, she knew that they were from one of the elite companies.

Bronaduion greeted her with a smile, carrying with him a tray laden with bandages, jars of salves and a steaming kettle.

Lostoriel twisted around, careful not to jostle her wound, and bowed her head, "Good morning Bronaduion."

"I did not expect you to be awake as yet, my Lady." He briefly smiled as he crossed the room, quickly resuming that half annoyed, half concerned frown that all healers wore as if they were mildly annoyed with their patients yet willing to assist them in any way.

"I could not sleep." She answered simply, not willing to divulge more information with the two guards who stood in the doorway. Word spread like wildfire in the kingdom and she did not need everyone knowing her business.

The floor spun wildly beneath her and Lostoriel gasped, leaning heavily against the doorframe and squeezing her eyes closed. Her empty stomach twisted and rolled, threatening havoc if she did not sit down soon.

Bronaduion bolted across the room, catching her by the arm just before she could stumble forward. “Come on, just a few small steps.”

The healer slowly led her to the low bed as she groaned and held a hand to her head and the other to her belly. Already, her skin turned a shade of deathly white and a slight sweat had beaded upon her brow.

"How bad is the pain?” He asked as soon as he had her sitting upon the unmade bed, the only thing keeping her upright was her holding onto the bedpost. “And do you feel any itching?"

Lostoriel blanched, bile rising in her throat as she gagged. She looked up into a steaming cup of water mixed with what smelt suspiciously like lemon.

“Drink.” Commanded Bronaduion in a tone that broke no room for argument.

Sometimes she wondered whether he forgot that he was just a healer. Though his brashness had saved countless lives in the past, so perhaps it was not such a terrible trait. Lostoriel blew on the steaming liquid, and lifted up her top, uncovering just enough to see the top of the bloodied bandage that was wrapped across her torso.

"It's not too bad. Just a mild throbbing for now.” Lostoriel took a tentative sip and grimaced as the sourness hit her tongue, “There’s only a slight itch, but it’s not as bad as it was yesterday."

Bronaduion cut through the bandage whilst he spoke, "That's a good sign.” He wrung out the clean cloth that had been soaking in a bowl of hot water and carefully wiped away what crust had formed between her drying blood and the salve he had put on the wound. “At least we know that the infection is beginning to clear up."

“I will give you something for the pain. Here, hold this for me please.” He distractedly shoved a clean roll of bandage into Lostoriel’s hand. Not that she noticed since she had swallowed the entire cupful of the sour concoction and had her eyes and lips squeezed tightly together.

A cold shiver broke out across her body at the cold touch of the salve that Bronaduion spread across the scarlet wound. Drips of blood still oozed out, but the salve soon saw to that. Thankfully the wound had not been too deep, it had missed her organs, but the stinger had still ripped far enough that whenever she moved it burned and twisted like the fires of Morgoth itself.

The healer abruptly halted, a quiet exclamation escaping him, “Lostoriel, what happened here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She cleared her throat, naturally avoiding his inquiring gaze. She didn’t need to look to see which scar he spoke of. She had been shot in a storm of gunfire, in the middle of a blizzard during the war.

Bronaduion had become accustomed with that numb grief that swam in Lostoriel’s eyes after treating thousands of warriors since he first began as a healer long before Thranduil had become king. He did not pursue the topic any longer and let Lostoriel stew in her silence.

Even now, after many decades the ceaseless firing of the guns, the horrible, wet thud upon impact and the screams of the men she had fought alongside haunted her. She had been shot many times over the years, but this had been the worst one.

It had fragmented upon impact and the damage had been irreparable. She had lost a part of herself then, Smaug’s fire had only added to creating a desert within her.

Bronaduion tied off the bandage, a brow raised in asking if it was too tight and Lostoriel shook her head. He moved off to the small sink to one side of the room whilst she pulled her top back down. She huffed a sigh of relief as the salve began to numb the edges of the wound. What she was not going to tell him is that she worked as a spy for a time, which would only make her look more suspicious now.

Lostoriel stared into somewhere and nowhere all at once, a hand rested below her neck, reaching for the reminder that had hung there for decades. She could still feel their blood well around her hands as they died and hear the sickening impact of every bullet and the silence that followed.

Bronaduion moved off to one of the counters and set himself to mixing together a pungent selection of herbs. “Well,” said he, grinding the mixture in the mortar, “the good news is that thanks to Faelon’s quick work in the forest, the poison has left your wound.”

She sighed warily, abruptly snapping back to the present, loathing the fact that she had to drink whatever it was he prepared, “Do I want to know the bad news?”

A wry smile tugged at his lips, “The bad news is that your stitches will have to stay in for a few more days.” A distinct air of solemnity washed over him, “I do want to take a look, with your permission of course, to your burns. When your father-“

A furious, scarlet cheeked Renieth flung the door open and marched into the room, ignoring the protests of the guards from outside and from Bronaduion, who stood perplexed for a second and then sprang into action. Lostoriel saw that murderous glare on her face and leapt from the bed.

“Renieth,” he flung himself in front of her, standing like a brick wall between the two elleths, “whatever you’re about to do, I implore you to first think and then act.”

The warrior rolled her eyes, and stepped around him, nothing was going to stop her.

He whipped around, a fierce glare, “Captain! Do not make me call in the guards.” His threat had no effect upon her as she just continued to stalk towards Lostoriel.

"You." She jutted a finger at Lostoriel and crossed the room in a few strides. Her dark eyes narrowed, "You."

Lostoriel backed away from the bed, inching ever so carefully to the window. She had seen that horrid stare and did not want to be under it, not even with a twelve-foot pole.

"Morning Ren." Lostoriel held up her hands, she gulped nervously.

Renieth stopped at the other side of the bed, jutting a finger at Lostoriel, who could practically see the steam rising off her, "Don't you dare 'Ren' me, Lostoriel. I have half the mind to take you down right here.”

"And why would you need to do that?" Lostoriel tried and failed to come across as mildly irritated, for she flushed crimson and stumbled over her feet until she hit the side table.

"Why would I need to do that?” The sarcasm dropped like honey,” why would I need to do that!" Her voice rose in fury and indignation with each word," You know damn well why I want to!"

“Renieth, wait, maybe you should listen to Bronaduion.” Lostoriel had grown up with Renieth’s fiery temper, she had been the victim of her wrath and irritation before. Especially after she had done something particularly reckless during a skirmish. Renieth had been her lieutenant, her most trusted warrior, and confidant and more importantly, though they were not related in any way, her sister. If Renieth could have had it her way then she would have fought Mandos himself and dragged Lostoriel’s sorry soul from the halls itself. Which only made Lostoriel fear for her life in this moment than she had in any war or battle.

In a blink of an eye, Renieth leapt over the bed, grabbed Lostoriel by the front of her shirt and A resounding slap echoed through the room, followed by Lostoriel's cry of pain.

For a second, all she saw was stars and spots. Then, she smacked away Renieth’s wrist, and pushed her back all in one motion.

"What the hell was that for you mad women?" Lostoriel held a hand to her cheek, cursing as her entire head reverberated with shockwaves.

Instead of answering Lostoriel's question she rolled her eyes and huffed. Renieth folded her arms over her chest and jutted out her hip whilst she glared at Lostoriel. Even without her ever present bow and quiver strapped to her back, Renieth still looked every ounce of terrifying.

"Why did you do it?"

Renieth smacked her on the arm and Lostoriel did not jump away in time to miss the thunderous impact of Renieth’s flat palm.

"Why did I do what?"

Renieth cursed, stepping close enough to Lostoriel that she could smell the strong salve, "Don't play dumb with me Lostoriel. you know precisely what I'm talking about."

"Uhm no,” Lostoriel shrugged irritated and mirrored Renieth,” I don't Renieth. I've done quite a number of things over the past few months that would get me slapped. So please tell me which one of my many sins you've come to rectify."

"By the Valar, that mouth of yours will one day get you killed."

"Many have tried, mellon-nin, and many have failed."

Renieth glared at her even more fiercely than before, and Lostoriel took the opportunity to back away to the window. She should have expected this from Renieth. Once, after they had almost been killed whilst on their first patrol, Renieth had sworn that if Lostoriel died then she would bring her back to life just so that she could slap some sense into her.

Now as Renieth stood shaking with anger, those icy eyes melted, and her glower twisted until her eyes welled and her shoulders began to shake.

The dark-haired elf sighed into a strangled sob and all the anger and fire she held within her burned away, leaving behind only the smouldering embers of grief and heartache.

"Why did you leave,” Her shaking voice rang through the heavy silence in the room. She couldn’t meet Lostoriel’s gaze, “Why did you go without me? Without saying goodbye. Why did you run, Lostoriel?”

"Ren, I didn't have a choice." Lostoriel found the strength to speak. Seeing Elrohir and Elladan again had been so different. It had been painfully dramatic, but at least she could face them. Though Elrohir had taken several days to dry his tears, and ease the grief weighing upon him, she had managed to hold him, to be with him. But this, being home. This was something entirely different. And she had dreaded it for months.

"You damn well did Lostoriel!" Renieth jabbed an accusing finger at Lostoriel.

Lostoriel watched helplessly as tears rolled down Renieth’s face, and as her voice cracked.

“I didn’t Renieth. There was no choice, not for me.” Said Lostoriel breathlessly, “My father would not help the dwarves, but I could, and I wasn't going to let him stop going. It might have been foolish and rash and selfish, but someone had to lend a helping hand.”

“But that didn’t have to come at the cost of your life! Why will you not see that?”

“It had to Ren. Smaug had turned his gaze westward, he wanted to burn our forest, our home.” Lostoriel’s nostrils flared and she wasn’t sure when she had started shaking, nor when her vision had turned misty. “What is one life lost in the pursuit of saving many, Renieth?”

"No.” Renieth pushed dark hair from her face, her voice rose with every word. “Don’t you dare pretend that you running off into the flames of a dragon- that your death was nothing! Don’t you dare act like you didn’t leave behind people who loved you, who needed you!”

The room reverberated with silence.

“You should have sent for me.” Renieth wiped furiously at her eyes, “I would have come with. I would’ve followed you into flame and death, but no!” She walked to the window, her boots clanging on the stone, “You had to go running off with your pride and self-righteousness, not needing the help of anyone else!”

“Renieth, please…” Lostoriel tried to reach out to her, but even now it felt like reaching out into fog only to have it slip through her fingers.

A cold wind sent her clothing rustling and her voice dying down to a whisper, “If I were there maybe you would have survived. Perhaps you would have come back home, and I would not have had to endure these horrible years without you.”

"Oh...Ren." Lostoriel placed a hand on her shoulder, but Renieth stepped back, her anger still smouldering even as embers. Renieth looked straight into her eyes and for a moment Lostoriel saw halls washed in grey and silver, and a lone figure standing and watching a dim sunset.

"You left me to take your place as captain of our battalion. What the hell were thinking? You were meant to survive. To fight for your life. You were meant to come home. To come back ...to all of us. To... To me. So, why..."

Renieth's voice broke and Lostoriel closed the distance between them, gathering her friend in her arms and holding her tightly as Renieth sobbed into her shoulder, snot and all. It twisted her heart to see her closest companion this way. That cinderblock of grief pulled her down and Lostoriel allowed herself to grieve with Renieth. She had not thought of the impact that her death would have. So often had she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what would happen if she should go. She knew that the world would move on around her, but her heart had never allowed her to think of how her family would cope.

"I'm here now Ren..." She ran hand over her friend’s soft hair, shifting so that Reneith’s deathly grip on her didn’t squeeze her to death, "I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

Finally, Renieth let go, wiping at her face with her sleeve. She could have punched Lostoriel, but her friend was injured and she could never do that. Renieth looked Lostoriel up and down and warned her, "Don't you ever dare do anything so idiotic again you idiot."

"I'll bring you along if I do."

"Damn right you will." Renieth pulled her into an embrace again, “You’re a reckless, fool-hardy clotpole with a death wish, you know that?”

Lostoriel snorted, her tears forgotten as she rested her forehead against Renieth’s, the practice ingrained in them since childhood, “I love you too, Ren.”

“Now,” said Renieth, tugging her tunic back into place, “If you’ll excuse me I have some councilmen to terrify. Please don’t do anything reckless before lunch.”

“I won’t”

Lostoriel shook her head, smiling wryly whilst Renieth crossed the room, apologising to Bronaduion for storming into his wards as she went.

“You won’t do what?” Asked Legolas from where he leant against the doorway.

“Do anything stupid, or life endangering before noon.” Answered Renieth

Lostoriel collapsed onto the edge of the bed, cursing loudly when her muscles squished together and her wound pulled in pain. “I make no promises.”

“I’ll see you later.” She smiled at Lostoriel and on her way out gave Legolas’s hand a squeeze, “Remember that the council starts soon.”

“I know, I’ll see you there.” He sighed, but Lostoriel caught that distant gleam in his eyes as he stared into Renieth’s eyes. It still set her stomach twisting when she thought of them together, but then her heart panged, and she longed to see Elrohir.

“Legolas,” A familiar voice brought with it the wiry form of Faelon, along with the stone-cold expression that, over the years, had been cultivated to scare off absolutely anyone who had stood in his way. In his eyes all she could see was a warning, stark as daylight and though Faelon seemed small in stature, Lostoriel knew that he could snap any foe in half without even trying, if he was so inclined.

Faelon bowed his head, first to Legolas and then to Lostoriel, his hand stretching from his heart to her, “My Lady.”

His lips twitched to the sides, a smile that he could not quite hide peaked out behind those clouds of mist, Lostoriel could not help but think of him as a fox gauging its prey before it pounced.

“I owe you my sincere gratitude for saving my life Faelon.” She held out her hand and he clasped her forearm. Those dark eyes searched her face for any sign of cowardice, any hint of betrayal and Lostoriel knew that they would all be watching her. Her smile wavered, “If it were not for you, I would be dead.”

Finally, with a grin like the sun peeking out the clouds, Faelon stepped towards her and flung his arms around her, trying to not jostle her wound as he squeezed her.

“You need not thank me.” He sniffed, “You really have to stop giving me opportunities to save it.”

Once Renieth was out of earshot Lostoriel smirked, “When are you going to ask her to marry you?”

Legolas spun towards her, “When are you going to think before you act?”

They both stared dumbfounded at each other for a long moment, shocked at what the other had asked.

“I thought that by law you’re not supposed to be here?”

“What the council does not know will not hurt them and stop trying to change the subject.” He snapped, adopting the same sour expression of annoyance that starkly reminded Lostoriel of their father.

She rolled her eyes, “You know, if you keep scowling like that, you’re going to get wrinkled.”

Legolas ignored her quip and gestured to the satchel he carried in his hands, “I brought you some clothes, and something to read. If you need anything more just ask.”

“Thank you.” She said awkwardly, drying her face with a small towel. She was well aware that he and Faelon had been outside the entire time that Renieth had been here.

Legolas shrugged and left the bag on her bed, he stepped back and reluctantly met her eyes. Lostoriel knew that look. Her brother only ever wore it when he was hiding something or had come to deliver bad news. He gestured to the chair and she nodded. Lostoriel watched as his eyes roamed about the room and then settled onto his boots. He sat like that for some time, the hush of the rain filling the quiet, until Lostoriel’s patience wore thin and she could handle the silence no more.

“What is it Legolas?”

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands over his face. Dark lines had settled under his eyes, his usually lively face seemed gaunt, and in his shoulders Lostoriel could see the worry rising and falling like waves crashing onto the shore.

This was all her fault.

Lostoriel wanted nothing more than to embrace her brother, he was annoying and a giant irritant in her backside half the time, but she had missed him. He had always been there for her, had always had her back no matter how much trouble he got her into. And now, now there was a mighty distance between her and Legolas.

He looked up at her, dread colouring his features as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment, holding it out for her to take.

From the navy-blue ribbon and the silver seal, Lostoriel already knew that it was from the High Council. She had been expecting this for several days now and was rather surprised that it had been delivered so late. She carefully turned the envelope in her hands, her stomach dropping the moment she noticed the silver leaf entwined with golden branches, stamped onto the front of the envelope.

It was the symbol of the Amarath, the most elite force within the King’s army. Dread rose in her throat and Lostoriel squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the tears that threatened to fall away. Behind it lay the stamp of the king. When she had run out of the palace the day the dragon attacked, she had still been on active duty in her father’s guard. Lostoriel, though she was one of the highest- ranking captains in the army, had deserted her post without the permission of the king. And as such, she was to be punished accordingly.

She did not bother with breaking the seal, for Lostoriel already knew the charges that she would face. “How bad is it Legolas?”

Her brother sighed again and ran his hands through his hair, “You are to appear before the King’s Council two days hence on accounts of attempted sedition upon the crown, suspected high treason against the king and…”

He hesitated, his lyrical voice thickening and hardening. Lostoriel hated it when Legolas did this, when he became the soldier instead of her brother, “Attempted kinslaying.”

She whistled softly, “They really had their pick at it this time.”

Her stomach dropped. She had known that it would come down to this. But kinslaying? Even she knew that it was an impossible charge, impossible but necessary. Lostoriel had worked her way up only to stoop to the level of Feanor and her blood turned cold at the thought. She had done what she had done, now she would have to pay the consequences, Thorin and his company would rot in the dungeons and the shadow would only grow in the east. She had failed before she could begin.

“And what about the military charges?” She coughed when her voice caught in her throat.

“Forfeiture of your captaincy, colours and status, dishonourable discharge for truancy and deserting your post and duty during a time of war.”

Leading her troop had been the honour of her life. The possibility of it being stripped away left her coloured with shame. Renieth had always been more of a captain than she had. Lostoriel knew that she would have to face her soldiers at some point, to apologise for leaving them without so much as a word. A part of her wanted to hide away, that part that screamed in her mind that she had failed, and thrown away those endless, painful days of training and fighting like it was nothing.

Dishonour was not something that the soldiers in the Greenwood’s army took lightly. They lived too long to not have the title and the job seep into themselves. Their armour had become their bodies, their weapons an extension of themselves and the people they served with their family. They would not take into account her fighting Smaug or aiding the dwarves. Perhaps she should have been more hopeful, but she had been interrogated by the people she loved, not believed by her father and had been imprisoned in her own home.

There was not enough that she could defend herself on, not enough that she could do to get herself freed, but maybe she could get the dwarves out.

“Ada wants to see you before then, he”

“No.” Lostoriel snapped, inhaling sharply at the deep throbbing coming from her side, “He can see me afterwards. I don’t want to- Legolas what he did was… Unacceptable, I know that he was doing what he had to do as the king, but as our father.” She could already see the defence mounting up in Legolas’s mind and she rolled her eyes in disbelief, “Don’t you dare try to defend the fact that both he and Merenon held a sword to my throat. Astordil treated me like I was a disgrace.”

Legolas paced around the room, Lostoriel’s eyes following him when he marched to the window and leaned against the sill. If she had been beside him perhaps, she would have seen the tears that pricked at his eyes, his hands shaking like leaves in a breeze.

“Do you know what she said to me before then?”

Her brother huffed quietly, a steady anger rising in him. His sister might have been missing for a time, but she had not changed.

“You’re going to tell me anyway,” He muttered under his breath.

“She said that there was no place for me here,” Lostoriel’s tone reminded him too much of a child complaining and seeking sympathy. “That there was no place for a traitor amongst the trees. I didn’t mean to-”

That was it, he had had enough of her complaining, Legolas tried to rein in his temper. But his chest and shoulders rose with every breath. He had been doing this for years; watching his sister get herself into trouble with their father and then having had to keep the peace, to act as a negotiator between two foes who were so similar in demeanour that it was often a menace to even try.

“Stop,” Said Legolas, his knuckles white, but Lostoriel didn’t keep going on for herself. “Please, just-“

“Lostoriel!” He snapped and whipped around, red-faced and scowling like a mountain lion before it caught its prey. “Will you just, for a moment, shut up!”

His boots echoed over the thunder that roared outside, “I understand that you’re hurt and in pain and ashamed for what you have done. And I understand that you’re still furious with Adar, and with Merenon and Astordil and I do not for a second blame you for feeling so.”

Finally, the clouds burst.

“But when, just when are you going to start taking some responsibility for what you’ve done? When are you going to stop having such a smart mouth and actually think before you act? Huh?”

The accusing finger he pointed at her did nothing to ease the growing lump in her throat. She could handle being screamed at by a dwarf, having Renieth slap the daylights out of her. But this, having her big brother scold her was too much to bear. Suddenly they were children again, and Lostoriel had broken the pretend bow that Legolas adored.

He started pacing again, his hands flying all about him whilst he spoke, “Would it have hurt you to stop and think of the implications before you fired that arrow? I know you Lostoriel, you could never willingly hurt anyone you love. And you would never dream of hurting Ada or myself, but you did what you did and,” Legolas pulled a chair from the window and stuck himself in it, “I want to believe you when you say that you intended to ward him off. But that’s not what I’m angry about Lostoriel.”

“Legolas,” Lostoriel reached for him.

“No,” he stood so abruptly that the chair wobbled on its back legs, “Let me finish. You do this every time.”

“I do what every time?”

“You and Ada have some sort of disagreement, or you go and do something reckless and downright foolish, which leaves him distraught and then I’m left to clean up the mess you both leave behind! I’m the one who has to keep the peace so that our family doesn’t suddenly implode. I’m the one who for so long has defended your every action, your every mistake and you continue to make them.” He sat back down in the chair, and muttered almost to himself, running a hand over his face, “One day you’re going to do something that I can’t help you fix, Lostoriel.”

Rage boiled within her, choking her until all she could feel was her clenched hands and the blood rushing in her ears. How dare he pretend that he had done nothing that she had to fix just so that he wouldn’t face the worst of their father’s anger. Sometimes, Lostoriel wondered if Legolas remembered how reckless and arrogant, he had been in their youth. He was not wrong in what he was saying, but Lostoriel did not want to hear it. Furious, bitter words rose like venom and she was ready to strike. But then his shoulders slumped, and his voice sounded so broken that the anger left her as quickly as it had come.

He met her eyes with tear-streaked cheeks, two pairs of blue glistening like the rain, “After our search for you failed, he locked himself in his chambers and didn’t emerge for months, unwilling to speak to anyone, to eat. It was almost like when naneth went, but this time it seemed like he truly had given up. I thought that I was going to have to rule permanently, that by the time the winter ended he would be too far gone.” His shoulders shook uncontrollably, “Even now that anger that ate at him is still rife, Lostoriel.”

Lostoriel had no more tears to shed, no more anger to feel, and sat staring numbly at her brother.

“So please, put aside your anger and face what is to come, go and apologise to Adar because I do not think that I will be able to handle this fallout alone,” he whispered, “not this time.”

In a flash, Lostoriel’s arms were around him, her head resting on his. Somewhere in the back of her mind she forbade the valar from ever touching her again if this is what would happen to her family. She was done pushing everyone away. She needed her brother, and he needed her. “I’m truly, truly sorry for what I did, ‘Las,” she mumbled into his hair, she hoped that he would not mind the tears falling into his hair. “I will go to Adar and I will make this right with him and you, I promise. Just please, don’t hate me.”

He gently pushed her arms away from him, bringing her up with him as he stood. Legolas held her at arms-length, and as if seeing her properly with her cropped hair and thinner face. She looked older than she had when she went missing, but Legolas still saw her as the little girl who left her stinking socks everywhere she went, and stole all his sweets. He pulled her into a fierce embrace, “You’re my little sister, Lostoriel. I could never, ever hate you,” even as he said the words, Legolas knew it was true, “you know, that right?”

Legolas stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head briefly. She had missed her brother more than she had missed anyone else if she was being honest. They had always been at each other’s necks as children, but he had her back, and she would always have his. “I know, Legolas,” her voice came as a squeak, “I know. Thank you.”

“I’ve missed you, squirrel.” He laughed.

“I’ve missed you too, you absolute sheep.” And Lostoriel couldn’t help but join in. She tried to knee his shin, but Legolas anticipated the movement and moved his leg just in time.

As they stood watching the rain cascade from the grey skies and trees singing against the tune of the wind, with Legolas’s arm around her shoulder, Lostoriel felt for the first time since she had left Imladris, that perhaps things were going to turn out just fine. She would find Bilbo, free the Dwarves, and kill the dragon. She didn’t know how or when, but somehow, they would find a way.

But for now, she was content to watch the rain knowing that her brother was by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there everyone!  
> That was a hell of a long chapter, and full of angst ( sorry, but not that sorry.) I rewrote this chapter a few times until i was happy with it and honestly, I'm rather proud of this teary, emotion-filled mess. This chapter is very elf heavy, long but we will get back our favourite dwarves in the next one! and the pace should be picking up soon.  
> I'm sorry that this chapter took so long to post, life caught up with me, but I'm going to try, (emphasis on try), to post on a more regular basis from next week.   
>  Thank you soooo much to lancealot2point0 for beta reading and editing this chapter, I appreciate it!   
> Thank you for the kudos and the comments! They mean a lot, and i really do enjoy hearing from you all!  
> Until next time, stay safe!


	23. Death Does Not Make Saints of Us All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hothron- Captain  
> Tithen muinthel-little sister

Something pushed against her subconscious. Her knees buckled beneath her. It was dark and grey like storm clouds on a summer's day, swelling like a wave, and an eye, crimson as blood and raging with fire flashed in her mind.

It swelled like a wave and an eye, crimson as blood and raging with fire flashed in her mind.

Her gaze turned south and cold tendrils of fear gripped her heart. The dimness of Dol Guldur rose like a crooked finger in the distance. For centuries, a dark power had been residing in that fortress. Lostoriel once knew how to block it out, to not hear the shrieking of the dying trees, the plea of the forest for relief from the darkness that continually seeped into their roots and constricted them. A thin hover, like an insect trying to pelt its way into her brain, rang shrilly in her ears. It rooted her to the ground. Her feet melting into the stone and the walls rising up around her.

She could not give in. Could not succumb to the unsteady shaking of her knees or the image of Smaug burning the forest in her mind. She could feel herself slipping, and the stone turned to mud between her toes and again, she was falling.

Could it be? When Saruman said that it was not the Valar who had brought her back, had he been talking about the evil that hid under the guise of the Necromancer? It was a pebble of possibility in a vast sea of doubt. And yet a part of Lostoriel suspected it to be true. That she had not just been brought back here to avenge herself, or to be given a second chance. No. There was something else at work here.

Lostoriel swallowed the bile that rose to her throat, pushed herself off the wall and practically ran to shut the balcony doors and shut her curtains, gripping the towel around her body until the soft material burned her fingers.

It was a futile attempt to stave off the pain that ran through her body or the ringing in her ears. She gripped the thick curtain and yanked it shut. For a moment everything was quiet.

The white council had not listened to her father when he warned them of who had barged into their home. They did not listen when the forest almost burned, nor when her father had ventured south and come back on death's doorstep. And now Gandalf was travelling to the High Fells, to the one place where the servants of the darkness were buried. She could only hope that he would return alive.

She peeped through the curtains again, scanning the autumn dusted trees that ran until it dropped into blackness and uttered a small prayer of protection for the dear old wizard.

Four sharp knocks on the bedroom door snapped her into the present, "Lostoriel?"

It was Renieth. She had taken leave from her patrols upon deciding that she would spend every moment that she could with Lostoriel. And had consequently spent the last two days keeping her company. Things were not the same as they had been before. They barely knew each other anymore; both having grieved over the loss of the other.

Renieth was here to help her get dressed, since Lostoriel refused for even Golweneth- the elven women who had taken care of her since childhood- to see her this way.

"You ready for me yet?"

Lostoriel blocked out the singing of the trees that constantly filled her mind, "Not yet Ren! Five minutes!"

She painstakingly made her way to her large walk-in closet, scooted to the nearest shelf of tunics, and began her rummaging.

Two days had passed since she had promised Legolas that she would make amends with their father. And in those two days her father was nowhere to be found. She had spent hours waiting for him in his office, had left a countless number of messages with the poor messenger- who she was sure was now terrified of her- and had hollowly accepted the news that he was too busy attending to matters of state to speak with her.

Which Lostoriel knew was the fancy way of saying that he was trapped in an endless cycle of council sessions.

Guilt constantly ate at her. It was not merely what she had done, but the possibility of what could happen. Her fate in the kingdom would be decided in the coming days. Banishment or prison. There was no way over the rock, nor a path around the hard place. If she was banished and tried to break the company out, she would be shot and killed before she could step over the borderline. And worse yet, she would spend eternity wandering the continent. Never being allowed to cross the Sea. Watching the world fade away, becoming hollow with regret.

Throughout her life she had given him a tough time. They were too alike. Too stubborn, too arrogant. He had tried to shield her from the world. And Lostoriel struggled against that for years. It had driven them apart and forced her brother to play peacekeeper. But this wasn't only for Legolas. It was for her too.

She swore through clenched teeth and pressed her hands against her stomach, leaning against the doorframe for support. Bronaduion assured her that the pain would soon be fading and that the stitches could be removed in a week's time. But the nauseating cramping and pulling of the wound begged to differ.

Half an hour later, surrounded by a pile of clothing, Lostoriel sneezed violently and jumped as something in the room came crashing to the ground. A sharp scream of surprise ripped into the air. Her stomach dropped. And her heart raced. As far as she knew she was alone in the room. The guards were all outside and they would have knocked before entering.

"Lostoriel?" Called one of the guards from outside her room, "Everything alright in there?"  
For a moment she stuttered, torn between calling in the guard and letting whoever it was in her room know that she knew they were there. And that she was frightened.

She pressed her stomach just above her throbbing wound. If someone was here to kill her, she wouldn't be able to fight.

For a moment she stuttered, "Yes. Yes Celegeth, I'm fine. Just knocked over the chair is all!"

"Try to be more careful, your highness!" She heard the footsteps turn away and spun around, searching the shelves and draws for one of the weapons she had hidden around her room. Or something she could just defend herself with. She could hear the chair scraping across the floor and something heavy falling with a thump. She needed to act quickly.

She silently patted the bottom of the high shelf, hoping that it would still be there after all this time. Clutching the towel to her chest, she found the tiny slit in the wood and pushed it back until it clicked, and the knife fell flat into her palm.

Lostoriel peered out from behind the door. And suppressed a gasp.

The blanket that had lain on the chair wriggled around on the ground like someone was trying to fight it off. Muffled shouts and curses rose with the blanket and soon it dropped to the ground. The blanket was hooked around something, and it unravelled as whatever it was came towards her, slithering like a snake.

Lostoriel flipped the knife so that the tip was in her palm. She bought her arm back, clenching her teeth to prepare for the pain in her side. The something or someone had stopped near the edge of her bed and she prepared herself to throw.

"Wait!" The knife clattered to the ground and Lostoriel's grip on her towel faltered. Materialising-literally- out of thin air was the one person who she had not expected to see.

"What. Are. You trying to do? Kill me?" Bilbo Baggins stood fuming with anger, his hands balled at his sides and what looked like a mud stain down the side of his shirt. His curly hair had ruffled itself like chicken feathers and he looked like he could have murdered her without delay. Lostoriel opened her mouth to answer, but someone crashed against the door.

"Lostoriel?"

It was her brother.

Without thinking, Lostoriel dived towards Bilbo.

"What are you doing?", The hobbit tried to leap out of her grasp, but Lostoriel caught him by the shoulders.

She shoved him towards the bathroom, "No time to explain. Just stay there and don't make a sound."

"I'll make more than that, Lostoriel- what?"

His protests fell on deaf ears. Lostoriel had already shut the bathroom door and locked it just as Legolas burst into the room, an arrow drawn back on his bow. Renieth shoved her way between the two guards stationed outside her door, followed by Faelon who brandished his axe with a snarl.

"Earendil's pants!" Cried Faelon upon seeing the princess wrapped in nothing but a large towel. He flicked his gaze upwards, dramatically taking a great interest in the ceiling, "my eyes burn!"

Lostoriel gasped half-heartedly, grabbed an old teddy bear that someone had lain on her bed and threw it at him. It hit Faelon's dulled, leather breastplate and thudded to the ground, "Oh shut up you goblin!"

"What was that for?"

"For your burning eyes that's what!"

"What's happened?" Legolas's voice rose an octave when he saw his sister clad only in a towel and immediately lowered his bow.

Reneith coughed awkwardly and scanned the room, "We heard shouting."

Her entire body flushed red. She nearly dropped the towel in her scurry to grab the throw from the bed and hold it against herself. Lostoriel cleared her throat, her heart thudded like it wanted to escape her chest and she was sure that they could hear it. She plastered a lopsided grin on her face, trying her best to look embarrassed and not guilty.

"No…Nothing, I just…There was a mouse hiding in one of my shoes," She pointed lazily to a stray boot strewn near the window, "it escaped onto the balcony. So, no need to worry, you can all go now."

"Do you not want us to remove it, your highness?" Asked one of the guards, already moving into the room. Legolas was halfway across the room, picking up the boot with a careful hand and tipping the opening onto his palm.

Lostoriel made to stop him from taking another step, grimacing as she heard a scuffling coming from the bathroom, "Oh, no. I'm sure. Better we leave it be for now. I'm sure he'll make another appearance later."

"A mouse," Renieth folded her arms, an unimpressed brow raised at Lostoriel, "Since when are you afraid of mice?"

"Since they fall onto my feet when I want to change." Her voice rose just loud enough that she was sure Bilbo heard.

Lostoriel hugged the blanket closer, she needed them to leave at once. She hated anyone seeing her lain so bare, but more importantly she needed to speak to Bilbo. She smiled with embarrassment, and nodded her thanks to the guard, "You don't have to stay, it's quite alright."

The guard bowed hastily, careful to keep his gaze on anything but the princess and left with reassurances that they would have the little intruder safely captured.

Now that the guards were gone, Lostoriel took a proper look at her brother and their friends. They were dressed in their formal attire. All except Renieth, who had an utter disregard for any formalities. One could tell that she had tried to look presentable in her normal greens and browns. As she moved across the room to check the balcony, her emerald cloak swished off one shoulder, the golden handwork of a birch tree seemed to wave as she moved.

Lostoriel's heart swelled, the look of captaincy suited her friend. One could see it from the proud set of her shoulders to those tight braids that adorned her trailing hair. Reneith paused and glanced over her shoulder as if she could hear something that they couldn't. Lostoriel's heart stopped. She prayed that Bilbo would not be found.

"Are you absolutely sure it was a mouse?" Asked Legolas, now flat on the floor and peering under her bed.

"No, it was a goblin dancing about my room."

Lostoriel glared at her brother who gingerly picked up items of strewn clothing with distasteful eyerolling and tutting about the state of her room that was meant to annoy her. She clasped the throw a little tighter so that she didn't throw something at him to shut up.

His deep blue tunic, coated in a layer of dust that was going to drive Galion insane, caught Lostoriel's eyes. It had been a long time since she'd seen him wear anything but green or brown. And his hair loosely held in his silver circlet reminded Lostoriel of a time when Legolas had not borne the responsibilities or scars he now wore.

"Alright, no need to get so antsy," He dusted off his pants and half-heartedly grimaced at the dust on his palms, "you need to clean under your bed."

"No, I don't!" Lostoriel needed them to leave so that she could change. Clearly none of them were getting the message, so she changed tact, "Legolas, where's your shoe?"

He looked down and blanched.

"How you grab your bow first and forget your shoe and sock amazes me." Said Renieth dryly, she looked between Faelon and him, noting the discomfort on Lostoriel's face, "Don't you two have something to take care of?"

"She's right, 'Las," Added Faelon, now taking a keen liking to a dusty novel on the bedside table. He quickly stole a meaningful glance at Legolas, though it was tainted with his need to flee the room, "We still have a list of things to get through before the hearing."

Her brother's second in command held her gaze. Those dark eyes searched for something in her eyes, and Lostoriel knew it. Faelon, from the first time he and Legolas had gotten into trouble together had made it his life's mission to protect him. Lostoriel wouldn't be surprised if he decided not to trust her. She wouldn't trust herself either. But then that look of judgement passed and he smiled, saying simply but with everything he couldn't articulate, "Goodluck. I hope you know that none of us think you should be stripped of anything. Those bureaucrats don't know what they're talking about."

Faelon had always been an elf of few words. When he spoke, he did so because there was something important to say. And in line with his ways, he gave her one last nod and disappeared down the hallway.

Legolas hobbled along, stopping to give her a hug, but then thinking better of it, he simply smiled, "No matter what they say or do, remember that you know the truth. Don't be scared. Just go up there and tell them what you know."

After reminding Lostoriel to hurry up and get dressed, Renieth left shortly after Legolas.

()()()

Finally, alone, Lostoriel changed before more surprises came her way. Once clad in her comfortable clothing, unlocked the bathroom door only to have Bilbo tumble out and land with a thud on the floor.

"Are you done locking me in there?" He asked with an incredulous glare. He rose and dusted his pants.

Lostoriel smiled sheepishly, "I'm sorry, I didn't have a choice. It was either get caught with a stowaway and let you be jailed or have jailed me for kinslaying. So, I chose the third option."

Before Bilbo could ambush her with a barrage of questions, Lostoriel's arms were around him and squeezing his already famished self a little too tightly.

"Durin's beard, Bilbo! I've never been happier to see a familiar face in my life," she held the flummoxed Hobbit at arms- length, "Where have you been? What happened to you in the forest? How did you get here? Are you injured?"

She grabbed his head and turned it from side to side, then his arms and Bilbo caught her hands before she searched him, like Sunflower when she had wanted a treat. But Lostoriel was not done.

"The dwarves, have you seen them as yet? Are they…Are they alive?"

"One question at a time please. I should be asking what happened to you in the forest."

He watched in amusement as the realisation dawned in her eyes. For all Lostoriel's hard outer shell and her stubbornness, she cared about him and the dwarves like they were her own family. Though he knew that she would never admit it. She led him to the small fireplace at the other end of her room. Bilbo couldn't help but notice the towering bookshelf, or the night sky that had been painted onto the ceiling. Nor could he ignore the pointed silence with which Lostoriel avoided his question.

He clambered up onto an armchair by the fire, looking child-like with his feet dangling above the floor and the entire crimson piece nearly swallowing him as he sat back.

Bilbo recalled his end of the tale. Of how the thick enchantment had clouded their minds, and they had lost their way quickly after she had left. Whilst Lostoriel had been running towards that voice that she kept hearing, Bilbo and the dwarves had been captured by spiders. He had managed to free them all but fell down a slope into a darker part of the forest and missed the skirmish. Bilbo also regaled her with his amusing albeit concerning tales of his time in the fortress. He told her of his first night here, leaving out how he had accidentally walked in on the naked warriors.

Lostoriel learnt that he had been here for almost four days and had spent most of that time scurrying between the dwarves and her bedside. "I couldn't leave you alone of course. Not when you were swimming in and out of consciousness like that."

Bilbo's voice fell just above a whisper and he struggled to keep his composure, "More than once, I thought that you weren't going to make it. Every time Dwalin or Ori or any of them asked how you were, I didn't have the heart to tell them that you were unconscious. I didn't know how I was going to tell them that… If the worst happened I…"

"Bilbo…" The elf pulled up the coffee table behind her and sat on it so she could take both his hands in hers, Lostoriel wiped away a stray tear from his cheek. She had no idea that Bilbo cared about her that much. They weren't extremely close, but they were the outsiders of the company and she supposed that that's what brought them together. "I'm here now mellon-nin. It takes more than a little scratch from a spider to kill me."

Though Lostoriel hardly remembered the past few days with much clarity, she did recall a gentle whimpering at her bedside in the twilight hours, coming from a gentle head of curls.

"Do you know that you snore in your sleep?" A small smile crept onto his face.

She gasped, "I absolutely do no such thing!"

"Just like Gloin might I add," He held up a hand to save himself from the questions with which she was bursting. "The dwarves are fine. Disgruntled, stuck in a never-ending foul mood that only gets worse after they've been fed for some reason. Balin and Oin had been complaining about their aching bones, so the guards brought them some blankets and tea surprisingly."

"My father might be formidable, but he's not cruel."

"They shoved Thorin into the most cramped, cold cell possible that is miles below the rest of the company after he spoke with your father yesterday."

"They what?" Her voice rose in indignation and Bilbo quickly shushed her before they were overheard.

Bilbo fiddled with his thumbs, "Apparently he's been refusing every offer that the king has made with him, or at least that's what Balin told me yesterday. I overheard from the elf named Galion that the king wants to speak to Thorin again tomorrow. Oh, and whilst we're talking about Balin, Dwalin asked me to let you know that if you don't break them out of here, then he may smash his way out."

"By the Valar, these Dwarves will be the end of me," Lostoriel gazed pleadingly to the ceiling. She nodded and stood with a renewed determination in her step, "Right, I'm going to speak with him tonight and see if I can talk some sense into that stubborn head of his."

He followed her as she paced in front of the fire, "Oh and I meant to ask, what's with all the fuss around here?"

He gestured flippantly to the formal clothes lain on the bed. Lostoriel had the good grace to at least look embarrassed and scratched the back of her head.

"Oh uhm…That's a funny story." She paced on the spot, "You know how I told you that my father followed me into the forest? Uhmhmm, well you see, I may have shot an arrow or two or three at him to ward him off so that we could escape." Lostoriel paused to witness his reaction but decided that it was best that she didn't see his face reddening. She swallowed heavily, her voice trailing off, "And now I'm being charged with kin-slaying, which is by all accounts unfair and well, I might be banished thus leaving you and the dwarves stuck here for all eternity."

"You did what?" Exclaimed Bilbo, leaping out of the chair and stomping towards her.

Lostoriel took one look at those pursed lips and the unhinged fury in those brown eyes. And stepped back. Never had she been so afraid of a creature smaller than her.

"There are times that I have questioned my choice to come on this blasted venture," He laughed humourlessly, "This is one of those times. Have you lost it? What were you thinking? That's your father!"

"I…I just…It was the only way of warding him off that I could think of."

"You could have run the other way and left him be!" He pointed an accusing finger at the elf, "I've seen you run through trees, you're like a squirrel, you could've run up and lost him there."

"Don't you think I know that now?" Lostoriel stepped into his bubble and this time it was Bilbo's turn to recoil. "Look Bilbo, we need to find a way to escape. Standing here shouting at one another is not going to solve anything. We need to get them and you out. We just need to find a way out."

"Right, sorry about that. What about you? How are you going to get out after this trial?" He looked about the room as if the answer would jump out at him, "What do you suppose?"

Lostoriel resumed her pacing, clicking her fingers together as she went, "Never mind about me or the trial, I'll sort that out on my own. I don't have a clue on how we're going to move thirteen stubborn dwarves out of here. But I know that it needs to be fast, sly, and undetectable. It's nearing the end of autumn which means that the festival week will begin soon, so maybe we could use that to our advantage."

Too busy creating yet another trench in the floor, Lostoriel didn't notice Bilbo staring despondently at the map on her wall. It reminded him of the ones he had on his walls at home. He had a hobby of collecting as many as he could, especially the old ones that were crumbling at their sides and had elvish markings that he could never decipher. His mother had introduced him to map collecting as a boy, after he had inadvertently gotten himself lost in East-Farthing Woods when on a mission to follow Gandalf to who-knows-where. On this map of the East, he followed the river Aduin as it snaked through the land. And an idea struck him.

"Lostoriel?" Her distracted hum came as a reply. "Do you have any maps that I could borrow?"

This time her pacing came to a halt and they both glanced at each other with renewed mischief, "I, as a matter of fact, do."

Bilbo followed wordlessly as Lostoriel rushed over to her desk.

Lostoriel searched wildly, pulling away yellowed sheets of paper, throwing the books that lay under them to the side as she rummaged through the mess. She hastily stole a glance at a confused Bilbo, and immediately went back to searching the cluttered desk, "After my grandfather, King Oropher, moved his people from Lothorien or what was then known as Lorinand, they crossed the forest another three times until he settled near Emyn Duir, which is just…West of where we are now."

She tore through the draws and pulled out two rolls of parchment, then darted to her bookshelf, her foot rapping away at the floor. Bilbo stuck his hands in his pockets and watched with a barely suppressed grin whilst she fluttered about like a dragonfly.

"Oropher and his people settled here in these mountains, fashioning it in the likeness of the halls of Menegroth."

"Mene what now?"

"An ancient city that my adar lived in during his youth." Lostoriel dropped the sheets on the desk, awakening a large cloud of dust that set them both sneezing, "Though it was never on any of the official maps, the city had a series of interconnected tunnels in case of an attack."

With the utmost care, Lostoriel untwisted the string on the top folder and gently pulled out two, yellowed maps. She gathered the three others she had left on her desk and bounded to the fireplace.

Lostoriel carefully unfurled each map and laid them beside each other, "My ada was afraid of an invasion from all sides, since we are surrounded by Angmar, Dol Guldur and Mount Gundabad. So, he created a complex labyrinth of tunnels that run through the forest and under the Anduin."

"There may be a way out." Said Bilbo, smiling wryly at the Elf.

"Exactly." She reshuffled the maps until she found the oldest one, now yellow and brown in some places. Teacup stains and ink splashes coated the edges, but it was readable. "We just need to find the right one."

"Which is…" Lostoriel ran a slender finger across the map, tracing the etchings that she had so long ago memorised and finally grinning when her memory kicked in, "This one!"

Bilbo did not need to kneel on the ground like Lostoriel did, for the table reached his waist and consequently reminded him of how small he was.

The elf pointed to a series of zigzagging tunnels that led to a long main passageway under the palace, "These tunnels start off at the highest level of the palace, there are staircases and mechanical lifts that can break parts of the forest floor. Many of the tunnels have been blocked off, we need to know which aren't. There are a few that serve as food stores and weapon vaults there too, so, we need to be extremely cautious about where we go."

She pointed to the tunnel that stretched the length of the map, curled through the forest and ended near the banks of the Long Lake, "This is the one we need to find. It slopes down until it passes under the confluence of the Forest River and the Anduin. It's dark and dingy and many Elves have gotten lost down there and have never returned." Lostoriel rolled up the map and handed it to Bilbo, regarding him sternly, "When you go searching today, don't go to the deepest levels alone Bilbo. We can go down together tomorrow. Do you understand me?"

"I won't, you have my word. But I do have an exceptional understanding of maps and on how to be sneaky." He smiled mischievously, "You go concentrate on not being banished and I'll figure out a way to break more laws."

"Be careful. Stay out of sight."

"I will."

Someone knocked at the door. Lostoriel hastily folded the maps, calling for them to enter. Bilbo stuffed the maps in his pockets, slipped on his ring and left as Reneith stepped into the room.

* * *

Renieth got to stuffing Lostoriel into the formal uniform of the Amarath. Lostoriel scratched like a dog with fleas under the thick collar of the black dress tunic that all the captains would have to wear. Despite the beautiful silver embroidery, she hated it. The chemise beneath her corset had already rolled up, creating an uncomfortable bulge that kept rolling higher with each movement.

"Stop scratching!" Scolded Renieth from behind, where she tugged Lostoriel's head back and continued to twist Lostoriel's skull into her hair as she braided.

Lostoriel did not stop scratching. She scowled at her reflection. Why they were all forced to wear the too-heavy tunics, the overcoat and then the heavy cloak on top was beyond her. They could just throw her in prison for all she cared, so long as she could take the clothing off. She moaned; her wound flared with biting pain. Sitting up for this brief time had been painful enough. Lostoriel did not know how she was going to sit in the courtroom for hours on end. She needed to find Bronaduion before the hearing.

"You're going to make it worse." Reneith pulled both short braids to the centre of Lostoriel's head and began braiding them together, a look of sympathy passing over her caramel face. Lostoriel did not enjoy talking about her injuries, she was too stubborn to even mention, and as such Reneith would wait with what little patience she had until Lostoriel finally admitted to weakness.

Renieth mistakenly pulled her hair again and Lostoriel shot her an irritated glance that quickly turned soft in a plea to get out of the tunic that now had her arms flaring. Renieth's face came into view, her dark braids smacking Lostoriel, "That's not going to work on me."

Like the reasonable adult that she was, Lostoriel stuck her tongue out at her friend's reflection. It had been worth a try.

But now she sat wriggling her toes to try and stifle the itch under her arm, that she could not scratch because of her aching muscles and the warning look that Renieth settled on her. Instead, she swallowed her nervousness and rehearsed the testimony she would be giving in court.

Reneith made quick, but neat work with her hair. Soon she had the first braid behind Lostoriel's ear done and had moved onto the next. She could plait everyone else's hair but her own. If Lostoriel could move her arms properly, then she would have done Renieth's hair for her. It was an unspoken tradition that the practice was reserved for family or close friends and Lostoriel and Renieth had been doing each other's hair for centuries. At least, Reneith had not said a word about her uneven hair. Though, Lostoriel would be lying if she pretended that she wasn't a little envious of Renieth's dark locks that glittered with the beads she had braided through them.

"I still can't believe that your father is court-marshalling you." Hissed Reneith as she tugged too tightly on the hair behind Lostoriel's ear. In the mirror, Lostoriel could see the righteous anger that flickered to life in her friend's eyes.

Again, Lostoriel groaned miserably, gingerly prodding her stomach to feel out where it hurt the worst.

Renieth missed the movement, distracted by the endless number of knots she found in Lostoriel's hair, "Did I pull too hard?"

The shorter elf sighed and rubbed her stomach, "No, it's just that this damned corset hit my wound." Lostoriel shifted awkwardly, "And my father is not court - marshalling me. The king is, along with the entire council, most of whom have not seen a day of battle."

"Oh," Reneith smiled ruthlessly, "not to mention dear old Lord Amdirereb."

Her braids hit Lostoriel in the face, "The same Amdirereb who tried to get me disinherited? I thought that he retired from his chair?"

Her indignation was palpable from where Lostoriel sat, "There is only one misogynistic, snotty, old elf who has his head stuck so far up his backside. It's a miracle they found him." Renieth tied off the braid, "Sὶlioron and Losseneth gave me a rundown of who's sitting in today. Apparently, the council feels that it's their duty to ensure that they have a fair number in case Adar's judgement is clouded."

Losseneth and Sὶlioron were the most skilled jurists in the kingdom. Losseneth had been a scholar in Doriath and had taken Silioron under her wing after he had proved his impressive ability to argue. Both had a mutual dislike for the stubborn, sometimes ignorant ways of the council and had never lost a single case. Lostoriel had spent the previous day going over their strategy and how they were going to get around the problem of Lord Amdirereb and his sway over the older councilmembers.

"That's ridiculous! Your father's judgment is not in any way clouded, trust me." Reneith returned carrying a familiar wooden box. "In any case, there's a reason why he was forced to leave the council in the first place."

"I don't think it matters now," sighed Lostoriel, "I just want this to be over with."

Renieth slipped an arm around Lostoriel and helped her to stand. They hobbled over to the long mirror, where Renieth left Lostoriel to sigh at her reflection. She returned moments later with a thick, forest green cloak that she threaded into the golden buckle on Lostoriel's right shoulder. Like a well-oiled machine, Lostoriel slipped the other top corner into her belt on her left. Renieth smiled grimly as she unlocked the lid of the thin box and held it before Lostoriel. She caught the disdainfulness with which Lostoriel frowned at the silver circlet.

"I know you hate wearing it," she carefully set down the box and lifted the circlet to Lostoriel's head, "but you could at least pretend to tolerate it."

"You should be wearing this. Not me."

"I rejected your offer once before Lostoriel, and I shall do it again." A heavy silence filled the room. The silver circlet that resembled branches of a tree entwined with one another, adorned with small gems of diamond and rubies furled into leaves and flowers silver.

Renieth dropped to one knee and bowed her head, "It has been an honour to fight by your side, hothorn."

The move had been unexpected and Lostoriel found herself at a loss.

She gritted her teeth and reached down, laying a hand on Renieth's shoulder. They both knew that this would probably be the last time that Lostoriel would be called captain. The last time that she would wear the symbol of the Amarath on her chest and the last time that the heavy cloak fell from her shoulder. Through a tight voice and with glittering eyes, Lostoriel forced herself to smile, "The honour has been mine."

Renieth rose and clasped Lostoriel's forearm and shoulder, Lostoriel did the same and for a moment they stood. Captain and her lieutenant. Two sisters in a room full of memories and the ghost just under the other's fingers. Their foreheads touched and for a moment they were in their youth, meeting after their first skirmish with the orcs. An all-consuming fear that they had not felt before around them.

"I could not have asked for a better second, nor for a more loving friend."

Reneith stepped back, confusion fluttering across her sharp features, "You speak as if there is no hope."

"There is no use pretending otherwise."

"You don't need to be, Lossenon and Siliron are going to do everything they can to fight for you." Reneith squeezed her shoulder. That familiar, determined solemnity settled over Reneith, as if she had already decided the outcome of the trial for herself, "You served your kingdom with valour and you gave your life to stop Smaug from coming after us. That is all anyone could have asked of you."

"Thank you." She furiously wiped at her cheeks, she had said those words to so many before her. But having them spoken to her sent pride and a strange warmth blooming in her heart. Renieth engulfed her in a hug and bounced off to the door.

"I'll talk some sense into those council-members myself if I have to." She held the door open, "Aren't you coming?"

With a quick glance to the bathroom and then to the water-clock on the mantle she sighed, "I…Need a moment. I'll be right behind you."

Renieth nodded, understanding the full gravity of what was about to happen. She shut the door behind her and scurried off in search of Legolas.

She inhaled deeply, and for the first time in so long gazed upon her room with misty eyes. By this evening she could be banished. Forced out of the kingdom she had served, and saved, and revered. Her books would remain behind, packed snugly upon her bookshelf, and the paintings that crawled up her walls would chip away, and she would never hear Legolas's voice wandering through the walls or her father as he paced in his office below, reading a book.

With one last glance at the space where she had spent her childhood, had lain wrapped in Elrohir's arms as the deepest snows of winter flurried and where she and Reneith had spent endless nights playing games and giggling like little girls; Lostoriel drank it all in. Then she squared her shoulders, straightened her circlet, and shut the door behind her.

* * *

"The abandonment of your post just hours before your troop could travel south is a spineless act in a state of war. Do you deny that you wrongfully left your warriors to face the shadow in the south without sound reason?"

Legolas blanched, that particular councilman had not seen a day of battle in his life, nor had they ever travelled into the depths of the southern forest. Over the years, many warriors had made excuses to not travel south, many- at the sight of the blackened trees and under the leaden blanket of the darkness- had considered abandoning their posts and some did. The prince never faulted them for it. For even he had been left with the memories of his friends dying on the sodden, decaying ground. Pierced with arrows and dripping with orc blood.

Her fingers silently drummed on the tabletop. Though Legolas could hear the heavy beat from where he sat upon the top tier of the half-moon bench. He could see Lostoriel's jaw twitching from where she was undeniably grinding her jaw. Worst of all he saw the fear that she tried to hide, it hung in the air around her, mixing with apprehension and shame. He had tried to press into their bond, to speak to her, but he had run into a wall of ice. Beside him, his father sighed silently. Out the corner of his eye, his father's shaking leg bore into his consciousness.

They were both anxious. The council was tearing Lostoriel to pieces. His sister could fight with every weapon known to the elves, could slay thirty orcs on her own, scale mountains and pick fights with dragons. What she could not withstand was words. Which is why she permanently wore an exoskeleton of stone around her. But not even stone can withstand the erosion of the water and wind.

The words of the council chipped away at her like pickaxes to stone, leaving the crumbling pieces of her dignity and soft heart scattered on the floor like shards of glass. And it drove him mad that he could not help his tithen-muinthel.

"And just what was it, hiril-nìn, that made you shoot at your king?" Lord Amdirereb's already pinched face scrunched up even further in scrutiny.

Legolas clutched the slab of wood that served as a desk, a large, hand covered his own. Tiny tremors shook it from side to side and Legolas looked up and into his father's eyes. And there he saw fear, a depthless, aching fear, and dread for what was to come. He often forgot how old his father was, how much he had seen, and how much he had lost. But Legolas would swear in years to come that in that moment he saw the horrors his father had seen flare before his eyes. And he knew that it was all null in comparison to the words that would flow from his sister.

Like it had never happened, Thranduil turned away, his impassive mask borne upon his face and Legolas held his breath.

At the other end of the bar, standing alone behind a podium, Lostoriel contemplated knocking several councilmembers over the head with her shoe. Many of the council were of the nobility- a bunch of arrogant, pompous, power-hungry puppets. It almost warmed Lostoriel's heart to know that some things in the kingdom had not changed. Though most elves in Greenwood felt that they were ruled over by a just and kind king, there were those who would rather see Oropher's line taken out of power so that they could rule. These were the few who hardly allowed Lostoriel to breathe between their endless, repetitive stream of questions.

"Were you placed under any strict orders by Thorin Oakenshield or anyone else to attempt to kill the King?" Another lord continued.

Lostoriel squeezed her toes together, resisting the urge to squirm under the strict, curious gazes of the twenty councilmembers who stared down at her. Most were of noble blood, some were retired warriors, but others were elected leaders of the villages that dotted the forest. And a few others had been jurists for as long as Lostoriel had been alive. Some like Lady Tawarn, who sat at her father's right hand, were some of the first Silvan Elves to awake in the GreenWood. No one knew how old she was, and none dared to ask lest they feel the bite of her sharp mouth. Where several of the council glared at her, Lady Tawarn studied her with mild scrutiny and no short degree of sorrow. But Lostoriel had no idea what was swirling beneath those ancient eyes.

In the centre, upon a high backed chair of velvet and wood, sat her father. A crown of twig and autumn berries rested upon his head, and behind him, laid over the green banners of the GreenWood was a staff of oak. His expression had remained impassive since the hearing had begun, a clever tactic to not let the councilmembers know what he was thinking.

Another voice joined Lord Amdirereb's, but the words floated right over Lostoriel's head, "My Lady?"

She pressed her shaking hands into her tunic. Even Legolas, who had been supportive earlier that day mimicked their father's indifferent stare. It was uncanny how similar they looked beside each other; lips pressed in thin lines and blue eyes visible even from this distance.

Losseneth nudged her in her side and hissed out the corner of her mouth, "Lostoriel!"

The princess shook her head, flashing the council an apologetic smile, "Begging your pardon councilwoman?"

On her right, Siliron sighed through his nose, any sign of weakness on Lostoriel's part would allow the council to swoop down on her like carrion birds to a carcass.

The auburn-haired elleth frowned in irritation at having to repeat her question again, "Were you under any duress when in the woods?"

Lostoriel hesitated, she couldn't lie. But telling the truth and having her father watch her speak about almost taking his life sent her insides writhing and a thick lump forming in her throat. She stared at the blurred window behind the councilwoman, "I was not."

Instantly disgruntled mutters and quiet exclamations of shock rose from the council. Though she tried not to, she could see the resignation on her father's face. Out of the corner of her eye, Lostoriel saw Losseneth's hands briefly turn white as she squeezed the tabletop. She could feel Legolas's sorrowful eyes upon her. And behind her the hurried whispers coming from the gallery. The trial was a closed one, but the higher-ranking nobility and the scribes had to be there, including Merenon and Astordil, who Lostoriel had avoided at all costs.

Lostoriel clutched the sides of the podium with white knuckles. The forest had been screaming at her, the pain of the trees shrilly bleeding into her mind, a lullaby sung to her long ago had set her heart aching and the dwarves - she had to save them, she needed to save them. To ensure that the quest went on aa planned. But she couldn't let the council know that. She couldn't let word of the quest fall upon the ears of those who would try and stop them. She hadn't been thinking. The consequences of her actions meant nothing. All that mattered was the quiet fury that constantly simmered in her bones and the only way she knew how to rid herself of it.

"I was given no such orders from Thorin Oakenshield, nor any other person to," her adar's eyes met hers and the words were lost on her tongue. It was now, standing before the council that Lostoriel knew the impact of her actions. The rift that it had torn. She coughed, "to shoot at the king. I knew that should the dwarves be found in the forest, then due to the thin ties between our people, they would be imprisoned. So, I led the king away from the skirmish, I had hoped to merely trap him in the bog. Not to end his life. What reason would I have to kill my own father?"

"So, you admit that you were under no duress to shoot at him?" a council-elleth with fiery red hair spoke up.

Lostoriel hesitated, "Yes."

"And how did you know that they were to be imprisoned?" Again, Lord Amdirereb's shrill voice rang, "Was killing the prince and then the king perhaps part of a ploy to raid our kingdom? All your actions lead us to believe that you're a usurper of the throne."

"A usurper?" Lostoriel whipped around, her flaring nostrils betraying the air of calm that she tried to uphold, "I have never wanted to be an heir to the throne. I've never wanted to rule, but even so I did my duties out of love for my people." Her glare deepened, "Those dwarves are of the noble house of Durin. They are honourable, kind and fiercely loyal darrows, who may have grievances with the elves, but they are not merciless plunderers after nothing but blood and destruction."

She turned directly to her father, "We have the rightful heir to Durin's crown in our dungeons. When has the noble house of Oropher ever taken to imprisoning other rulers?" She held the gaze of every member upon that podium, "May I remind you all that is an act of war do so? Is it now a crime to be led astray by the deep magic that has settled over the southern reaches of the forest? To be- "

Her breath came short, the adrenaline sending shock waves through her hands and heart. She had barely begun her explanation when the councilmembers loyal to the king cut her off in an unrelenting volly. She wanted to scream. Throughout her life, Lostoriel had been overlooked by the older members of the council, valued for her looks and silence. Her voice hadn't mattered for years. Legolas had been favoured for centuries, they all valued his opinion, the biting edge of his blade. The tapestries on the wall had much in common with Lostoriel. Silent and forgotten. But it had not lasted. No, she had proved them all wrong.

Her sweaty hands clenched and unclenched behind the podium. All she heard was the deafening roar of blood rushing through her head, the voices of the council were far away. Several times she opened her mouth to speak, but it was as futile as trying to gasp for air underwater. But her chest heaved with indignation. They were barely listening to themselves at this point. Arguments for and against her flew across the courtroom. 'Kinslayer.'

'Untouchable.'

'Blight upon the noble house of Oropher.'

Words that Lostoriel had been taught to never use against another edhil. To never ever think of uttering in her mind were now thrown haphazardly from mouth to mouth, cutting away at her hastily diminishing resolve. She looked up through burning eyes to her father who sat and said nothing. It outraged her that he would sit there upon his throne, letting her be torn to shreds. Lostoriel blinked the mist away from her eyes and looked upon him again.

_'Eglaneth.' The forsaken one._

This time she saw sorrow and confusion. The temperature in the room dropped and anger flitted across his face. Lostoriel let down her guard and had to cling onto the podium so the sheer force of all her father's anger did not pull her down. Legolas too sat pale as the moon, the despicable words of some of the council pinning him to his seat.

They seemed ignorant of the pure fury rippling across his father's face, of the way that his grasp on the oak staff flexed and of how Legolas stared him down with the warning that he often used to ensure one of his warriors that the fight was truly over.

The council should have counted themselves lucky that they did not wither under the fire of her father's gaze. Lostoriel barely registered Losseneth placing a hand on the small of her back, gently coaxing her away from the podium. Eventually Lostoriel willed her feet to move. However, at that moment an unforgiving voice pierced the air and Lostoriel thought her knees would give way beneath her.

_Betrayer. 'Gwarth.'_

' _Agarweneth.' Bloodstained._

Legolas whispered out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes scanning the courtroom as he did so, "Can you not stop them from being so harsh, Adar?"

His father's impassive gaze never left lord Amdirereb, who spat out a scathing remark. Fury flashed across Thranduil's face. He gripped the oakstaff in his hands so tightly that Legolas heard it crack. Then the scowl disappeared, and Legolas knew that the flame slowly crept towards his father's fuse.

"I'm still here. Do they not see that?" Legolas almost felt sorry for those in the council to insulted his sister as such. They had no idea what they were unleashing.

The king sighed heavily through his nose. Legolas also knew that sigh. His father had spent the past two days buried under a pile of ancient scrolls and books trying to find a loophole that he could use. He had studied every text on kinslaying and treason from every kingdom and in every language that he understood and even those that he did not. Legolas found him in the early dawn, sprawled out on the massive carpet in his office, surrounded by a cream sea of parchment and empty teacups. The inexplicably forlorn grimace on his father's face had told him all he needed to know. His father had no choice in the matter. It had been made for him long ago in a kingdom that Legolas had only heard of in his history lessons.

"It is nothing but an abomination upon this kingdom!" Lord Amdirereb jabbed a thin finger towards Lostoriel, his shrill voice rising and carrying over the rest like a horn blast upon the wind. _It_. _It._ Those dark eyes met hers and in them she saw fury raging and unbridled. Lostoriel shouldn't have been perturbed by the sheer indifference of his stony features. But the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes gave her away.

"An irreconcilable stain- "

No. She wasn't going to stand there and let him drag her through the thorns like this. She may have been a kinslayer and a dishonour to the titles she held. But she was still their princess. Still a captain. Still an elf. Still a person. She was hated and scorned by many, but in the past Lostoriel had never let that stop her from standing up for herself. Lostoriel grabbed Siliron's thick book from his desk, answering his concerned inquiry into what she wanted with it with an apologetic smile. She spun on her heels, marched passed the podium, into the centre of the room, opened the book down the middle and snapped it together again with as much force as possible.

"Shut it!"

Simultaneously the heavy thud of wood upon stone rang through the room and a single, infuriated shout, "Enough!"

Lostoriel hastily shut her mouth, her chest heaving. She turned around to find her father leaning on the desk, glaring fiercely at every single one of the elves in the courtroom. He breathed heavily, his face beet-red. It warmed Lostoriel's heart to know that he wasn't going to let her flounder like that.

The oaken staff clattered like thunder in the deathly silence that gripped the room. No one dared to even twitch. Thranduil inhaled sharply, calming himself so that he did not snap in such a way that would end badly for them all. He pushed his knuckles further into the wood, "If you're all done, it would do you well to remember that this is my chamber that you are in. And as such the rules that govern this chamber shall be observed!"

He straightened to his full height, the giant antlers mounted on the wall in front of the Greenwood's colours and the crown glittering upon his head, reminding them all the formidableness of the ElvenKing. Lostoriel bounced on her heels, highly unsure of what to do now that all eyes rested upon her father and subsequently on her.

His lips pressed into a thin line, he held the gaze of each of the council, daring them to interrupt him. Lostoriel knew that look. He was furious and it would not bode well if anyone they did. Lostoriel had not expected him to do this. No, she had planned to stand on her own and take what was coming to her. but his kind defence mounted a surge of courage within her and Lostoriel knew what she had to do.

"Lostoriel has not killed anyone. And as such none of you have any right to even let the thought of calling another such things cross your minds!" They all sat like children being scolded at, wisely none of them met his eyes. "Perhaps if you gave her a chance to speak and defend herself then Now, you will all shut your mouths and keep your unwarranted opinions to yourselves until the accused is done speaking. Are we clear?"

The question had been rhetoric, but there were a few whose answer sat clearly upon their faces. Thranduil saw this and readied himself to make another scathing remark when a firm hand clasped his and pressed it firmly into the wood of the desk. He looked up and into Lady Tawarn's. The older elleth was unperturbed by the fierce glare that Thranduil settled on her. She held his gaze unwaveringly and in those ancient eyes he caught a message.

'Your shouting will do no good. They are not worth it. Let me handle this.'

The king nodded solemnly to her and made a sweeping gesture, signalling that the floor was hers. The elleth rose to her full height, the velvet red dress she wore reminding Lostoriel of an ancient queen.

Where Thranduil had been a raging fire, Tawarn was a peaceful river. She spoke gravely, "According to the ancient laws, an elf accused of attempted kinslaying must be given a fair trial. We cannot simply hear the word kinslayer and jump to such assumptions. None of us were there in the forest with the Aran and Brethil. And as such we will afford her the respect to speak for herself." Her dark tresses tumbled to her waist as she nodded to the young elf, "This captain has served her kingdom since she could first pick up a sword, she has valiantly defended her kingdom and… Given her life in service to us all. Though we will not let this cloud her actions in the forest, let us at the very least hear what she has to say."

If her heart could hop into her mouth and set itself to a gallop it did. Lostoriel's mouth went dry.

Lady Tawarn smiled at her and resumed her seat. Surprised whispers coming from the gallery fell into a thickening silence.

Lostoriel turned in a slow circle, holding the gaze of everyone in the room.

It had been centuries since stood in this spot to take the oath as heir to the throne. It had been an absurd thought then to imagine that she would be here, fighting for her freedom. Renieth's steady gaze caught her by surprise as she turned upon the gallery. The tall elf nodded encouragingly and momentarily, Lostoriel did not understand why her friend was behind her on this. But then, as if out of the shadows came a grim face belonging to someone she had not expected to see here.

Hithuies, her mother's younger sister had slipped through the towering doors, her severe face shrouded by a deep hood of green. She had been a fierce warrior in her youth, the head of the king's spy's in fact. But after a horrific skirmish under the trees, where she nearly lost both her arms and her entire platoon, she had disappeared into a quiet village to the north of the forest. Lostoriel had not seen her aunt in decades. She was a recluse. Never venturing further from the eaves of her village. From beneath that hood, Lostoriel caught the faintest hint of a smile. But it vanished upon the face of her first mentor, as quickly as it had come. Don't be afraid, it said.

Finally, Lostoriel turned to face the council. Legolas nodded encouragingly, thinking perhaps that she would defend herself. That she would fight to remain home. To remain known. She smiled wryly at her brother; a sadness that did not go unmissed by Legolas fluttered in her eyes. And Lostoriel knew that no matter what she said, she was going to lose everything and everyone she had just gotten back. If Bilbo's search in the tunnels failed, treason was their only escape.

"You all want to know why I left. Why it seems, I abandoned my post," she began shakily, turning in a slow circle, uncertain as to whether her words would even mean anything to them. "There is a time where one must abandon the rules in order to do the right thing. Helping the dwarves was the right thing. Thror may have been beyond all hope, but his successors and his people were not. We have been at war for so long that hope for us has begun to look like a flicker on the horizon. But not for those dwarves."

Now she turned to her father and brother, "I meant to come home," the sincerity in her voice could not be denied, "I had every intention of it. I always knew that I'd probably die in battle, but I did not expect death to come with a dragon. You may all despise me and scorn me, but I did not ask to die. I did not ask to be whisked away...But I do not and will never regret helping the dwarves. For doing what so many have feared to do or chosen nor to do the sake of an ancient hatred. Death and then life without the people I loved was punishment enough. But I would do it again if it meant trying to keep those I love safe."

She couldn't keep the anger that simmered within her from boiling over. Not any longer. "Do any of you honestly think that I would have killed my own father? That I would ever willingly endanger the lives of any of our people?" Whatever discontented mutterings that fluttered around the council came to a ringing silence, "I know that what I did was wrong, so inherently wrong. I regret them dearly. So, you may call me a kinslayer, call me whatever you want. I will accept whatever punishment is decided. But I will not give up the fight for their lives. I plea to the council to reconsider their imprisonment, those dwarves have done no wrong. They have saved my life countless times over the past year, and I would see that debt repaid."

It could have been a figment of her imagination, but she swore that a wide smirk hid itself upon her father's face. The stark division between the king's supporters and those who disliked him shone through their facades. Though they would come to a decision, her fate rested with the king. And for now, it seemed that everything might just turn out alright. That of course, was until a councilmember who strongly resembled a mouse broke the awed silence.

"My Lady," said the councilman whose name she had long since forgotten quietly chimed in. He grimaced, reluctantly speaking under the fierce gaze of the king, "that was quite an impressive speech. I'm sure you had quite enough time to rehearse it."  
Lostoriel blanched, already in the process of retorting when he held up a hand to stop her.

"You have defended your friends valiantly, but would you honestly have us release those who have so rudely insulted our king? We do not take it lightly when a group of filthy dwarves waltz into our kingdom, spit at our king's feet. Telling the king to die in flame is not taken lightly in this council."

He sat back with an expression of mock concern, though he tried to hide it, everyone could see it. Lostoriel's jaw hung slack. His words hit her like a firecracker of a punch from a stone giant. She studied him, hoping to find that he was lying. But in his eyes there was no guile.

Here she was, pleading to the council to release her companions, vouching for their characters and kindness. You're a fool, she told herself.

Lostoriel spluttered, "They did what now?"

* * *

She flattened herself against the wall, keeping out of the light that streamed through the narrow crack between the door and the frame. It was well past midnight and Bronaduion would only be back to check on her at around three, as per his schedule, which left her with two hours to make it to the dungeons and back. She peeked into the hallway, not daring to breathe just in case anyone was walking nearby. But the long passageway was clear in both directions, lit only by the amber light of the lanterns and the moonlight that stretched through the open windows. Lostoriel inched the door open, careful to not swing it too wildly in case it should creak like she knew it would. She pressed herself further against the wall as light streamed into her room. After the horrible trial, her father had allowed her a respite from the constant watch of the guards. They were for now gone, but tomorrow they would be back.

It was now or never.

Lostoriel flicked up the hood of her grey-green cloak and ducked out the door, keeping close to the wall where the shadows were long and dark.

She ducked in and out of the patches of shadow thrown by the moon and torch light, carefully avoiding the open doors to the other rooms until she made it down the long passageway and to the tall doors of the healing ward.

She grinned, feeling nostalgic at the familiarity of her escape from the wards. She and Legolas had pulled the same stunt repeatedly, often escaping through the window and into the trees until they reached the lower levels of the palace where they would sneak to wherever their friends were. One thing they shared was their hatred for the healing wards.

Once she ducked through the doorway Lostoriel straightened her shoulders, her cowl still covering her face as she strode in the general direction of the dungeons, the ends of the cloak flapping wildly around her ankles as she went. Hoping all the while that she would not get herself lost, like she had throughout the entire day.

()()()

Lostoriel hid in the crook between the jagged rocks and the staircase as one of the guards passed by her, she didn't dare to breathe or blink. The guard strode passed her, not registering her presence in the shadows, his head down and shoulders slumped from the long shift that he had just completed. He plodded unhappily up the stairs and as soon as she heard his receding footsteps Lostoriel flew down the staircase and into the lower levels of the dungeons. Her ears leading her to a sound she had dearly missed for the past two days.

Snoring. The intermittent puffing and snorting that rose like a cacophony of mini thunderstorms. She smiled to herself. A strange warmth that had not been present around her own family, now filled her. The dwarves had been suspicious of her at first, they treated her as an outsider, almost like an intruder upon the secrets that they kept so close to their hearts. She too had thought them stubborn and arrogant and unmovable as the oldest of trees with deep roots.

But soon she had come to be fond of them, and then to worry about them. And now as she passed by the first cell which housed Balin and Ori, Lostoriel realised that even though she was home, they were now, the closest thing to family she had.

The elf took extra care when moving passed the cell. The Ori lay on the floor, snoring lightly, his knees drawn up to his chest, bundled against the high bed that Balin snored upon.

Three, Lostoriel counted in her mind, looking to her right and noticed Dwalin's unmistakeable form on the floor of a cell across them on the opposite wall. Lostoriel plunged on, carefully picking her way through the elaborately confusing pathways until she felt the spray of a waterfall on her skin. Four, five, she passed by Dori and Fili sharing a cell, on the opposite side Gloin and Bofur lay on their backs, one still as the dead and the other imitating a lawnmower. That made seven in total. She would have to search the dungeons for the rest of the company after she rattled Thorin.

Lostoriel ducked into the shadows of the next staircase, two voices from above conversing in Sindarin caught her ears and she took extra care when tiptoeing down the stairs. If they found her here it would spell the end of the quest and of her life in the woodland realm. She tugged her hood further over her head and came clear from the staircase and onto the next walkway. Bilbo had mentioned that Thorin was being kept in the deeper part of the dungeons, where the cells were widely interspersed, and the wind blew like bitter ice upon the skin.

She had immediately known where he was. When they had need to keep orcs or the evillest of men prisoner, that was where they left them. It was primarily a mental ploy. The jagged walls sat with barely ten metres between them, waterfalls that met with the river that ran beneath the palace roared like giants and worst of all was the darkness. The never-ending stream of time that ebbed and flowed without knowledge or warrant, twisting, and bending one's mind and willpower until the days blurred into one. And all one knew was the droning water and the breath in one's lungs and the icy wind that shrieked through the mind.

Fighting off the shiver that gripped her body, Lostoriel flew down the next flight of stairs, only to press herself into the shadows. She kept well out of sight from the lithe figure seated outside one of the cells. Locks of wavy hair coiled down the elf's back until it brushed the floor. The lamp light flickered, momentarily illuminating the elf's hair and face until it looked like a wildfire and Lostoriel stopped herself from gasping.

There, speaking in hushed tones with a dwarf was Tauriel. Lostoriel had not seen her since the forest and she had begun to wonder what had become of the lively elleth. She had grown in the past century. Tauriel was a good deal younger than Lostoriel, she had been a ward in the fortress for as long as Lostoriel could remember. Her childhood had been difficult, but Tauriel had worked her way up to the elite forces and had become one of Lostoriel's best warriors. Her boundless curiosity and fierce determination had served her well over the years. Though now, as Lostoriel watched her laugh with the dwarf, she couldn't help but wonder if the woodland realm had grown too small for Tauriel's tastes.

The red-head smiled wistfully and continued in hushed, animated conversation with- Kili.

Lostoriel blanched at the sight. Tauriel shifted so that she leant against the stonewall and the young dwarf's face beamed as he spoke of the tales his mother would tell him and Fili of the heavens. He never made any mention of a darrow-dame from Ered- Luin who had caught or shared his affections. In fact, Kili hardly spoke of love during their travels, however seeing him speak so freely and so joyfully with Tauriel warmed Lostoriel's heart.

She stood shrouded in the shadows, observing them converse in that flighty tone she remembered speaking to Elrohir with almost a thousand years ago. They had been lying side by side on the forest floor, their hands only just touching and the stars above glittering through the trees. It felt like a lifetime ago, but now as she watched Tauriel blush at Kili's soft words and how Kili listened to her with such wonder, a cold hand wrapped around her heart.

Though the thought was probably far from being true, their love would be doomed by ancient hatreds and the hard hands of time and mortality that would rip them apart. Lostoriel tugged her cowl further over her head and slipped like a ghost down the next flight of stairs. Before turning on the landing, she stole one last glance at the elf and dwarf.

Perhaps she had been wrong to despair, Kili and Tauriel were young and that there was hope for peace between their peoples. And friendship and love. For change and courage flowed through the blood of the youth.

She flew down the stairs, took a sharp corner and pressed herself into the shadows of the flickering light. Without moving her head, Lostoriel scanned the open passageway from left to right and then from above. There were no guards down here. There was no need to stand watch over prisoners that had no chance of escaping. And yet, she would take no chances.

With one final sweep of the area, Lostoriel dashed down the next flight of stairs, making sure that her light shoes did not clatter upon the stone. As soon as she emerged from the atrium, the annoyed muttering of Thorin Oakenshield met her ears and she caught a flash of movement from across the bridge as he paced in the dimness of his cell. Lostoriel crossed the thin bridge, anger rising within her like the tide and shook his cell doors with such force that Thorin swore they moved off the hinges for a moment.

"Die a death of flames!" She hissed, seething with rage as she clung white knuckled onto the bars. "What were you thinking?"

Thorin stepped back as the bars literally shifted on their hinges. Relief washed over him at the sight of Lostoriel, even as she raged at him, "You're damn well lucky that there's bars separating you and me right now Thorin Oakenshield! Otherwise, I would have you strung up by your toes for your pride and stupidity alone!" Lostoriel stepped back, her chest heaving with great breaths, "Pray tell, what was your purpose in telling my father that? Was it truly out of fury, or are you reckless enough to ignore the one offer we could've taken and gotten out of here, hmmm?"

Anger and fear for what Lostoriel would do flashed across the dwarf's face, simmering down to a mild annoyance when he took in her pale, dishevelled appearance. He folded his arms and raised both brows in defence, "Might I remind you that it was your father, the benevolent king, who sought payment for letting us pass through his realm. Why is it that I should take such an insult for passage?"

Lostoriel rolled her eyes to the heavens, wondering why she ever bothered to assist the stubborn dwarf, "Because it was our only hope for now that is why. And I cannot reason with my father now because both of you are so damn headstrong and one track minded! Why can't you just take what's offered to you so that we can get out of here?"

Thorin strode forward, contempt written across his features, "What choice do I have, Lostoriel? He offered us safe passage in exchange for a portion of our birth-right. I will pay them nothing, not when my people slaved away in the villages of men as stable-hands and housemaids, not after years of taking what little work, we could find and being trampled upon by those who see us as beneath themselves. No."

"Do you not think I understand what it is to go from having everything; a family, a home, to having to take any job one can get just to stay alive?" Lostoriel quietly snapped, "Don't you think I understand what it is to be a princess brought low? To clean pig styes and scrub floors, to grovel to men who barely deserve the title just to get by?"

Lostoriel had made her case, but he would not relent, "Whilst those accursed gems in that mountain hold no sway over me, there is nothing that I will give him. Nothing that will serve as retribution for what he did."

Lostoriel stepped back, horror drenching her figure. Her father had never been one to imprison innocent passer-by's, if it had not been for her own foolishness or Thorin's apparent distaste for elven royalty, then the dwarves would have been released by now. But a handful of gems was no reason to keep Thorin for reclaiming his home. Whether or not they were her mother's, it did not mean that they got to rot away in the dungeons whilst the world burned around them.

Thorin looked at her curiously, unsure of why Lostoriel was so quiet, "You alright?"

The problem of her father and his weakness for jewels could wait. She had bigger issues to worry about.

She folded her hands in the depths of her cloak, she had to reason her way out of this. They had to get out. "I know you're angry with him, Thorin- "

"Angry?" He gripped the iron bars white-knuckled. Years of resentment and hurt flowed to the surface and those sad eyes darkened, "Angry. No, Lostoriel, I'm not angry. I'm furious."

He studied her carefully in the dim light, not understanding why she was so wrapped up in her thoughts, "Your father left us to die. We came, half-starved, dehydrated, with wounded and grieving dwarflings in our arms and all we asked for was aid. But he turned us away! He turned away from you too, Lostoriel. He left you there to die. Aren't you angry with him?"

His voice rang thick with emotion. And Lostoriel felt like they were back at where they started this journey. Back at the blame game she and Thorin had continued to play. Of course, she had been angry. She had oozed with a wildfire raging in her heart for years. Never understanding why no one had come looking for her. Why they had left her in that mountain to die.

"That is between my father and myself." Said Lostoriel, putting an end to the matter and staring blankly at the wall. There was something in that distant gaze and in the heaviness of her voice that alerted Thorin that something was wrong.

But it didn't matter now. She couldn't dwell on that thought for too long, lest she burst into flames.

At least, that's what Lostoriel told herself to ease the fire that ignited within her now.

"I've been furious every day of my life for over a century, Thorin," he had to strain his ears to hear her voice above the waterfall. She looked up at him and her cheeks glistened silver in the pale light, "But anger will not get you and the others out of here."

Silence rang out between them. Lostoriel had hardly spoken of her life before she returned. Tonight, had been the most she had ever said. He understood why. Sometimes forgetting about the life one once had was the only way forward and of keeping that anger in check. So, in not wanting to scare her off, he said nothing.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" He arched a brow and shuffled closer to her.

"Bilbo and I may have a chance of getting you out of here. I just don't know if it's going to work, but we will try." Lostoriel wasn't about to go telling him her plan to scour the tunnel system, lest he be questioned, and the truth revealed. Nor was she going to mention that she was most probably going to be banished in the next few days.

"And if your plan doesn't work, what then?"

The elf pursed her lips and shrugged, her face setting into determined lines, "Oh, we're getting out. Even if I have to drag my father and the entire court along with us."

"We only have three weeks until Durin's Day."

"I know Thorin, but where there is a will, there is a way mellon-nin. You cannot despair. Not now."

A look of understanding passed between them and whatever animosity that they held onto dissipated with the breeze. Thorin's stoic façade melted away and suddenly his entire body sagged, his brow wrinkled, and he aged before Lostoriel's eyes. He coughed awkwardly and sank to the ground beside her. His muscles aching gratefully.

"I," he hesitated. For nearly two weeks the anger he had felt towards her, the hurt and regret ate away at him. Unconsciously, he rubbed his left arm, feeling the now smooth burns under his rough fingers. He hadn't meant to admit that he loved her that day in Beorn's garden. Especially not when they had been arguing.

The first time he met her on that bright, autumn day, he hadn't known that he would fall in love. In fact, the thought had been so far from his mind that when Lostoriel left a month later to travel back to her home, he had been left with this well of indescribable affection in his heart. And it had flickered into a spark and soon flared into a fire. But he was a darrow and she was an elf. Ancient and immortal. Fearsome and mesmerising as the stars.

Even now as she sat pressed against the bars of the cell, the yellow torchlight dancing upon her face, turning her eyes gold and blue, she seemed like a vision. A princess from the tales he had been told as a child. Then the wind changed, and the light faded and Thorin could see a heaviness weighing her down. A grief he couldn't understand and a pain he did not know.

There were too many words left unsaid between them. Too much hurt, strife, and cruelty. Carefully, he reached out and squeezed her forearm. Those eyes met his and Thorin found himself speaking before he could register what he was saying, "I've regretted not running into that fire after you every single day."

"I am deeply, truly sorry for what happened between us at Beorn's," His voice shook her from her reverie. She sat up straighter, not saying a word whilst Thorin spoke. "I know I hurt you, and you should know that I never intended to do so, Lostoriel. It was uncalled for and I was hot-headed and clouded by so much onto which I have held. I just got one of my closest friend's back -"

"I'm sorry too," She took his hesitation and interrupted, "I was cruel in what I said to you. It was uncalled for. I was hurt and exhausted and- you didn't deserve to have all that taken out on you." Her voice softened, "You didn't abandon me to the fire. I had no right to question your choices, not when I helped you in making them. You did what you had to do to keep your people safe. I know that I can't take back all those horrible things I said but-"

This time it was Thorin's turn to cut her off, "I forgive you, Lostoriel. If I could have run into those flames to save you, I would have." He reached through the bars and gently squeezed her hand, "The world may have forgotten you, but there are a few who know you now, who will not ask you to be anyone else but who you are now."

She hadn't meant to start crying. But the moment those words left Thorin's mouth the tears flowed freely. Lostoriel was a stranger in her own home. Though Legolas and her friends tried to act as if nothing had changed, Lostoriel knew that everything had. And that she had. It was a momentous relief that there was someone, or rather fourteen someone's who expected nothing more from her.

Finally, she managed to get her tears and voice under control and simply said, "Thank you."

The pair sat like that for a long while, with Lostoriel leaning against one side of the cell bars and Thorin on the other.

"Why did you never tell me?" Lostoriel whispered, breaking the silence.

"I…" He didn't meet her eyes and looked out beyond her. "I have loved you since that day you dragged me into the library in Erebor, found that old storybook and made me sit and read it to you. I was young then, and perhaps naïve, but I knew, Lostoriel." His voice grew earnest, "You came and turned my set- in- stone- life over on its head. But I knew how much you loved Elrohir, how much he loved you. And…Whatever I felt no longer mattered. I didn't want to be the reason that you both lost what you had found."

Thorin coughed again, swiping furiously at his cheeks, and refused to meet her intense gaze. A warm hand wrapped over his. Though it was an adolescent thought, for once there were no fluttering lightning strikes travelling up his arm. All he felt was dread for the rejection he knew was about to ensue. For that cold wedge that would forever sit between them.

"Thorin," she whispered. Lostoriel hesitated, she didn't want to hurt him. She never wanted that. But how was she supposed to let him down without breaking his heart? Dwarves, like Elves, only loved once. And once they found that love, they could love no other. It was a gem set in the hardest of stones. She sighed heavily, "I wish no pain on you Thorin. I…I loved you, but not in the way you would want me to. Elrohir is my one yes, but you are one of the closest friends I've ever had."

Somehow her hand found its way to his cheek, his hair tickling her skin, "But I need you to understand that I unlike Luthien am not blessed with the choice to give up my immortality. I cannot bear to think of how you will age, and…" She wasn't supposed to cry, but couldn't help it, "And go where I cannot follow. Thorin, I cannot imagine spending eternity without you by my side as my friend. And you do not deserve such a fate. Dying and knowing you'd be leaving someone alone for all eternity. I want you to be happy, mellon-nìn." She cupped his face in her hands and wiped away the tears that had fallen there. He did not move away. Thorin tried to smile. It was painful, filled with so much hurt that Lostoriel wanted to scream at herself for doing this to him.

"You deserved, and still deserve to find someone who you can grow a family with...Watch your children grow, until your hair turns silver and grey and your bones creak like winter in the trees. Someone who could be with you when the blanket of death falls away and the Halls greet you. I'm sorry, Thorin, I am not the one for you. But I will stand with you as a friend and ally in reclaiming your homeland."

Thorin was overwhelmed. Never had someone wished such simplicities, such love. Such unconditional love that he would never be able to attain. Either this quest would kill him, or he would die alone. And it shattered his heart. He respected Lostoriel and her decisions, her courtship to Elrohir and he did not want her heart torn between them both.

If she had loved him then he would have married her without a second thought. Thorin knew that Lostoriel was right, no matter how much he hated it. He could see it, clear as water. They would have a family and he would grow old. He would die and she would watch him perish along with their children. Left alone to watch their line endure the suffering of the world. Spending eternity alone and fading with the end of the world.

Thorin knew that with Elrohir she would find everything he wished for her, everything she deserved beyond what measure of happiness he could not give her. Finally, he gently removed her hands from his face and pressed them towards her chest.

Lostoriel could see him struggling to maintain his composure, the range of emotions that flickered upon his face and a swelling urge to embrace him overtook Lostoriel.

"Do not apologise for being in love, Lostoriel. You are right. Though my heart will not allow me to readily admit it, the life I seek…cannot be found with you. I can't ask that of you. Elrohir-"

The Noldorian name sounded so foreign on his tongue, "When the time is right, I know you both will be happy together."

"But Thorin- "

"No," a carefree smile broke through his tears, "Lostoriel, you deserve that uneventful life you so long for. You deserve joy and peace and love until long after you reach those western shores." He reclaimed his hands, "You don't have to worry about me."

"Are you going to be alright?" She looked up and Thorin was startled to see her cheeks red and stained with tears.

"Right now, I don't know. But eventually I will be."

A strange silence passed over them, Thorin broke it first, "I don't suppose convincing you that you can be queen will change your mind?"

If it had been anyone else asking, Lostoriel would have punched them. But she heard and then saw that mischievous grin on Thorin's face and knew he was joking. The sides of her mouth twitched into a smile. Though she tried to force her lips into a serious, thin line.

"As tempting as that sounds, Thorin. I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass."

But her mouth kept twitching upwards and the laughter bubbled in her chest and spilled out in a massive puff. Thorin too couldn't stop the laughter from shaking his shoulders and bursting out.

"You sure?" he asked between huffs of laughter.

"Oh, I'm sure!" Lostoriel rolled her eyes.

Their laughter soon died down and the two settled on either side of the gate, listening to the world pass around them. one after the other they sighed contentedly. Both Thorin and Lostoriel felt lighter than they had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh here we are again! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Not gonna lie, it was challenging to write, but I'm happy with how it came out. Also, I'm sorry if it was really long, I didn't want to split the chapter up because I felt that, for the flow, it'd all be better together.
> 
> Thank you so very much to Lancelot2point0 who sat and read all of it and did some top notch editing. I appreciates it! For once it ended on a happy note. Also if you haven't read their fics over on Ao3, (posted under Lancelittle) please do, they're soo great!
> 
> And thank you, dear readers, for reading and leaving kudos and commenting and favouriting and following! Seriously, it makes me really happy to know you're enjoying this fic!


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